


A Wolf Crowned With Thorns

by BlastoffSir



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Forbidden Love, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Self-Discovery, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:15:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 124,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24296470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlastoffSir/pseuds/BlastoffSir
Summary: Sansa Stark felt backed into a corner, surrounded by enemies responsible for the death of her family. She finds refuge in the arms of an unlikely savior, inadvertently placing herself in more danger than before. Despite what threatens to tear them apart, love will always find a way to bring them back to each other.
Relationships: Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell
Comments: 166
Kudos: 320





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is my first ever GoT fic. It will be more of a retelling, using real scenes from season 3-8, with my own original scenes to make it a Sansa/Margaery fic. Only major differences will be the Red Wedding occurs BEFORE Margaery's arrival to Kings Landing, as well as some other scenes happening in a different order.  
> Any mistakes are my own, and I do not own GoT! Enjoy :)

**Kings Landing, 301 AC**

  
**_Sansa_ **

  
The straps of the bodice were pulled painfully taught, the once soft silk reduced to nothing more than a uncomfortable restraint served to remind Sansa Stark of the arrival of her new replacement, or as she seemed more appropriate, Joffrey's new torture companion.

  
Part of her felt relief, though it was a minuscule feeling. She now could take comfort in knowing that she would not be married to that monster, but the comfort was quickly smothered by the new realization of just how disposable she was. With no news of her sister Arya, and the rest of her family rotting in either the wooded ground or a musty crypt, she was the last standing heir to Winterfell. The last key to the North. She was certain this, and only this, was the reason she still had her head.

  
What were their plans for her now? No doubt Cersei Lannister and the rest of her family of snakes were currently plotting on just that. The scheming never stopped, never slowed with the Lannister House. Sansa knew this now, when the information was of no use to her. She should have known it then, things may be vastly different, had she only known it then.

  
Another hard tug jerked her from her thoughts, as her handmaiden, Shae, deftly tied the strings of her dress and gave her a satisfied smile in the mirror in front of her. Sansa adored her handmaiden; she had suffered the abuse from the Lannisters and their men, had been shunned by the women, but Shae never abandoned her when everyone else did. She looked at her with warmth, not contempt, and she was always there to listen and clean Sansa's wounds whenever Joffrey orders her a beating. Shae understood what Sansa had endured since her arrival to Kings Landing, what she had suffered at the hands of the mad little king. What her House suffered.

  
“You look wonderful, my lady,” She said genuinely, smoothing out the non existent creases on the sleeves of Sansa's dress.   
Sansa smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. As much as she was relieved that she had a replacement to bed Joffrey instead of her, she couldn’t help but feel the utter embarrassment of facing such a person, and there was no doubt that if Joffrey happened to be present he would taunt her to no end. She also couldn’t help but feel incredible sadness for the girl, for there was a good chance that she too will know Joffrey's true nature, just as Sansa did.

  
Shae, ever attentive, must have sensed Sansa's hesitation for she gave her another warm smile, though this one sadder than the last. “Everything will be fine, my lady. I hear Lady Margaery is very kind, very genuine. I’m sure you two will get along well, perhaps even be friendly?” she suggested, trying to raise Sansa's spirits no doubt.

  
Lady Margaery of House Tyrell, the rose of Highgarden, granddaughter to the infamous Lady Olenna of House Tyrell. The woman was known for her silver tongue, scheming, and advanced knowledge of politics, and it was common knowledge that she had been grooming her granddaughter for this very occasion ever since she were young. Even if Lady Margaery was a kind and generous as the common folk and nobles said alike, it didn’t mean that it wasn’t all a show to serve her endgame. She was a player of the game, just as they all were in Kings Landing-all but foolish, naïve Sansa of course. 

  
“Perhaps…”

  
She would not be foolish and naïve this time around. Lady Margaery will be marrying Joffrey Baratheon to be his queen, and thus Queen of the Realm. This means she would surely be involved in the plotting involving Sansa's life, and the control of the North. Her heart skipped a beat as the frightening thought crossed her mind that the Tyrell Queen might even have a hand in forcing her into a marriage, perhaps even into the Lannister family anyway, or the Tyrells. She already had assumed that’s what Joffrey and his father had planned for her. Lord Tywin, a man with an insatiable appetite for power, made it obvious that he planned to secure the North through Sansa, while continuing his conquer of the remainder of Westeros through his grandson the King. She knew how much he benefited from the death of her brother Robb, for he already had Sansa locked away in The Keep. She knew how much their whole family was happy to see the fall of her House, the death of those dearest to her, and the destruction of her old self that came along with it. She was sure the Lannisters had been behind it, but the position she was in now left her with no power, no allies. Winterfell was in the hands of the Boltons, her home and memories reduced to ash. She had nothing to her name.

  
No, she could not allow herself to fall down that hole right now. She had a meeting to attend to with the future queen, and despite her gaunt form she had to put on the prettiest of smiles, as was befitting for anyone who was to meet the future queen of Westeros. She did her best to quell her nerves and put a stoic look on her face, one that radiated grace but also compliance, respect. Her dress was simple, but elegant. Deep violets paired with an even deeper grey that flared slightly at the bottom and long sleeves that hugged her arms tight but not overly so. Two large, golden clips fastened her in the front followed by a high neckline. She dressed as modestly as she could around The Keep, especially with Joffrey and his hounds always sniffing about. And she wouldn’t dream of dressing like a Northerner, unless she wanted to subject herself to ridicule. She kept her long, red hair loose save for a braid on either side leading together in the back. Her makeup was minimal, discreet.

  
There was an abrupt knock at the door of her chambers, Sansa already knowing who was on the other side.

  
“Lady Sansa, Ser Loras has arrived to escort you to lunch with Lady Tyrell.” Came the gruff voice of Ser Meryn Trant, Sansa's least favorite of Joffrey's kingsguard.

  
She gave a final questioning look to Shae, who confidently smiled back. “They will love you my lady. Just go and be yourself.”  
Herself, she nearly scoffed, biting back a reply. Being herself was the reason she found herself trapped within this lions den in the first place. She forced a smile nonetheless. 

  
She opened the door to reveal Ser Loras, looking as dazzling as ever. Sansa did her best to resist batting her eyelashes like a school girl, but it couldn’t be denied the extent of the Tyrell beauty. Soft, chestnut waves fell to his shoulders and he looked at her expectantly with even softer brown eyes. His delicate features lifted into a smile as he held out his arm for her to take, which she gladly did.

  
“Lady Sansa, how lovely it is to see you again.” He said courteously. 

  
Ah yes, she remembered the tournament well, when she had first come to Kings Landing. Back when Joffrey was kinder to her, though she still remembered saving Ser Dantos from losing his head when Joffrey had flown into a rage. Otherwise, it had been a pleasant day for the most part, and she recalled the red rose Ser Loras had given her after his victory. Her stomach was still left with butterflies at the fond memory.  
“As you, Ser Loras. I hope your journey to Kings Landing was well?”

  
“Of course my lady.”

  
They walked in comfortable silence through the Red Keep, Sansa doing her best to avoid the leering stares of the Lannister guards as they made their way to the gardens.

  
“If I may be so bold, my lady, to point out how beautiful you grow with every passing day,” he said warmly as his hand squeezed her arm ever so slightly. She flushed at the sudden compliment, all too aware of how few she received anymore. 

  
“You are too kind, Ser Loras.” 

  
They fell silent once more, the sound of the birds chirping and various conversations floated through the air. 

  
“I remember the first time we met,” Sansa said fondly, her smile faltering slightly when she noticed the look of confusion on Loras' face. “At the Hands tourney, you gave me your favor?” she hated how the end sounded more like a question. His face remained thoughtful, and Sansa began to feel a twisted knot of embarrassment bloom in her chest, reddening her face slightly. Of course he didn’t remember.

  
“A rose,” she said quietly, meekly. “a red rose.”  
“Of course I did,” he said, smiling brilliantly as though nothing were amiss. Sansa remained silent, focusing ahead. She had been eyeing the sky a moment, noting how particularly beautiful the day was, despite how miserable her heart truly felt. She hoped this lunch wouldn’t be an awkward affair, she hoped even more that King Joffrey wouldn’t be gracing her with his presence. 

  
“Ah, there’s my sister,” Loras said happily.   
She followed his eyes to the center of the garden; there stood a woman with stunning chestnut hair, matching that of her brothers, cascading down her back in shining waves, looking as though there were real gold weaved in her hair when it glimmered in the sunlight. She turned from a conversation she having with a young handmaiden, and gifted them with the most dazzling smile Sansa was sure she’s ever seen, and she had seen her fair share of highborn women with their dazzling beauty rumored from afar. She could see the Tyrell genes ran strong, and she wondered if all their family was more beautiful than the last. She met them halfway, upon closer inspection Sansa noted her eyes were a little lighter than her brothers, almost golden like her tresses. She aimed her smile to Sansa, her eyes glancing her up and down, taking her in. The action left Sansa feeling a little unsettled, as though Margaery was studying her, maybe even judging her. She showed no weakness and met Margaery's eyes, noting that her smile did seem genuine enough, as though she were pleased to see her.

  
“You’re such a dear,” she said endearingly, turning her attention to her brother. 

  
“I take my leave,” he said with an upturn of his lips, before turning to the red head. “Lady Sansa,” he said with a polite bow of his head, and turned on his heel to walk off.

  
“Thank you Ser Loras,” she said softly after him, before turning back to the Lady of Highgarden, who was watching her with an expectant smile. She looked quite radiant when she smiled, Sansa could see the rumored beauty of the Rose of Highgarden did not disappoint.

  
“Come,” she said simply, lightly, her hand brushing Sansa’s arm to guide her along. Sansa smiled and walked alongside her, doing her best to swallow her nerves. They rounded a corner and Margaery once again reached for her, putting a gentle hand to the small of her back encouragingly, giving her another beaming smile. Sansa found the contact a little strange, but dared say nothing. She assumed this was just how the Tyrells were, affectionate and charming. How much of that was real was the question Sansa would have to keep at the forefront of her mind. She was wary of trusting anyone in Kings Landing, especially a family willing to marry into the Lannisters, and rightfully so.  
Margaery was quiet, instead of talking she smiled pleasantly to the ladies around who shuffled out of their path, bowing their heads and tittering words of praise to the highborn lady. Not to Sansa though of course, so she merely watched with keen interest at Margaery's ability to charm everyone around her. Even Sansa found herself basking in her aura, a feeling of admiration settling within her.

  
_She will make a beautiful queen._

  
They approached the dining area of the outdoor gardens; a large patio of beautiful glass tables where ladies and lords can sit to take their meals, while their handmaids and servants giggle and blush among the flowers at the witty remarks made by the nobles. She led them to a table tucked in the back, where several goblets and a decanter of wine lay presented. Sitting at a nearby bench was an elderly woman, wearing a magnificent fitted jacket embroidered with golden stitch complimenting a pastel blue silk skirt. She wore a matching blue barbette which flowed down her shoulders. But what really caught Sansa's attention was the face the barbette framed. If she thought Margaery had been studying her before, it most definitely paled in comparison to how she felt under the gaze of Lady Olenna.

  
“Lady Sansa,” Margaery said, her voice smooth as honey, “it is my honor to present my grandmother, the lady Olenna of House Tyrell.”

  
The woman’s face softened slightly at the introduction, and curved her lips into a small smile. “Kiss me child,” she said, extending a jeweled hand to the girl.

  
Sansa took it gently, putting her lips respectfully to the woman's wrinkled hand. She smelled of rosewater, and for a moment she had a runaway thought where she found herself wondering if Margaery smelled the same.

  
“Its so good of you to visit me in my foolish flock of hens,” she continued, “and I’m sorry for your losses.”

  
Sansa heard that same apology from few people in Kings Landing. Since the news of her brother and mother's death, she had only received condolences from Lord Baelish and Lord Tyrion, but most of all Shae. Shae was the one that had held her through the night when all of Sansa's resolve broke, and felt like she was going mad with grief. That night, she truly did not know if she would go on.  
Yet here she was, listening to the same kind words being spoke from Lady Olenna, who Sansa was sure was just trying to be kind, but she felt they rang hollow, as they did every other time she heard them uttered. Perhaps it was just Sansa, who couldn’t bring herself to feel a thing.

“And I was sorry when I heard of Lord Renly's death Lady Margaery,” she said looking to the brunette, eager to steer the conversation from herself, “he was very gallant-"

  
“Gallant yes, and charming and very clean,” Lady Olenna interrupted. “he knew how to dress and smile and somehow this gave him the notion he was fit to be King,” she said almost bored. Sansa looked to her feet, unsure of what to say.

  
“Renly was brave and gentle, grandmother,” Margaery said, shooting an apologetic look in Sansa's direction for her grandmother’s abrasiveness. “Father liked him as did Loras.”  
“Loras is young and very good at knocking men off horses with a stick,” Lady Olenna said matter-of-factly. “That does not make him wise.” She was silent a moment before glancing back up to Margaery, “as for your fat head father-"

  
“Grandmother please!” Margaery chuckled, the sound light and pleasant on Sansa's ears. “What will Sansa think of us?” and she looked to Sansa with a playful, lopsided smile on her face, her eyes full of mirth. Her personality was contagious, and Sansa found herself smiling shyly back at her. It didn’t escape her that Margaery had failed to address her as lady this time either.

  
“She might think we have some wits about us, one of us at any rate. It was treason,” she said, turning her attention back to Sansa. “I warned them. Robert has two sons and Renly has an older brother. How could he possibly have any claim to that ugly iron chair.” It was not a question. She sighed and shook her head forlornly, “I should have stayed well out of all this if you ask me. But once the cows been milked theres no squirting the cream back up her udders and here we are to see things through. What do you say to that Sansa?”

  
Sansa swallowed hard as Lady Olenna watched her with patience, waiting for her to answer. To say the elder Tyrell's gaze was unnerving would be a tremendous understatement. She opened her mouth to speak when Lady Olenna suddenly smiled, “should we have some lemon cakes?”

  
Sansa was grateful for the sudden change in topic, though she was not very hungry. She hadn’t had a proper appetite since her father’s execution, especially for Lannister food, sitting at Lannister tables, where her father himself once sat.Even more so since the news of the Red Wedding reached her. She was thin, but not awfully so. Not to her.

  
“Lemon cakes are my favorite,” Sansa replied gratefully.

  
“So I’ve heard,” she said happily, before leaning past Sansa to a servant currently pouring wine at another table. “Are you going to bring the food or do you mean to starve us to death?” she bit, as the servant looked slightly bewildered. Sansa held back a smile. She found the ornery old lady quite amusing, her wit refreshing. 

  
“Here Sansa,” Olenna said as she stood, “come sit with me.” Sansa glanced to Margaery, who gave her a reassuring smile and nod, and Sansa’s anxieties were alleviated just the slightest. The girls presence somehow brought her comfort, as though she wouldn’t let Olenna interrogate her too aggressively.

  
“I’m much less boring than these others,” Olenna said airily as she led the girls to the alcove where the table was set. Sansa couldn’t help but look out to the view of the sea, the water a bright calming blue, the horizon stretched out for what seemed an eternity. She couldn’t help but think of home, or at the very least, anywhere but Kings Landing. It was a tempting image, this view.

  
“You know my son?” Olenna inquired, snapping Sansa from her thoughts. She quickly looked back to the Tyrell women as they sat down at the table.“Lord of Highgarden?” she continued.

“I haven't had the pleasure,” Sansa said truthfully. She hadn’t heard much about the Lord either, save for his negotiation of the alliance with the Lannisters, which resulted in Margaerys presence here today. Sansa was suddenly and painfully reminded of the girls dangerous marriage to come.

Olenna chuckled, “no great pleasure believe me. Ponderous oaf, his father was an oaf as well, my husband the late Lord Luther.”

  
Sansa glanced up to Margaery across the table, who held an expression that she couldn’t quite understand. She looked sympathetic, no doubt due to her grandmother’s constant berating of those around her, but her face held something else. Almost a shyness to it, as though she held a secret Sansa did not yet know about. Sansa let her gaze linger on her a second more before turning back to Olenna.

  
“He managed to ride off a cliff while walking,” Olenna scoffed. “they say he was looking up at the sky, and paying no mind as to where his horse was taking him. Now my son is doing the same, now,” she straightened a little at this, her face hardening slightly and Sansa realized that she had already made the mistake of falling into such ease with these ladies, and that Margaery's presence certainly wasn’t going to deter Olenna's advances.

  
“I want you to tell me the truth of this royal boy, this Joffrey.”

  
It hadn’t been the question Sansa was expecting. To be honest, she wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but the truth of her former betrothed was not it. Now that such a question was out in the open, Sansa had no idea how she could possibly answer. Surely the truth was far too ugly, and should Joffrey find out Sansa spoke ill of him, he would have her head. Her heart thudded in her chest as she tried to understand what it was Olenna wanted to hear.

  
“I-I-"

  
“You you, who else would know better? We've heard some troubling tales, would there be any truth to them? Has this boy mistreated you?”

  
They obviously knew of what Sansa had been put through at the hands of Joffrey. It was no secret that he ordered her father’s execution in front of her, then there was the incident in the throne room in front of the entire court, when her clothes had been stripped and she had been beaten senselessly until Lord Tyrion had stepped in. Another part of her died on the floor that day, surely there wasn’t much left now. She looked at Margaery again and the girl dipped her head, looking to Sansa with encouraging eyes, giving her the slowest, most imperceptible nod. Her mouth turned into a sweet, trusting smile, but it only worsened Sansa's nerves. She could no longer bear the woman’s kind eyes, and resorted to looking down once again. Had she glanced up, she would have noticed Margaery's smile falter, as she saw the confirmation in Sansa's defeated face.

  
“Did he take your tongue?” Olenna said with impatience laced in her voice.

  
Startled, Sansa was quick to speak, “Joff-King Joffrey,” she corrected herself, “his grace is…very fair a-and handsome and brave as a lion.” 

  
This time she did glance back at Margaery, whose smile had vanished, replaced with a carefully masked expression, neutral, but with a hint of scrutiny. Sansa was quite sure the girl didn’t believe her for a second. After all, Sansa was a terrible liar.

  
“Yes, all Lannisters are lions,” Olenna said thoughtfully. “And when a Tyrell farts it smells like a rose. But how kind is he, how clever? Does he have a hard or gentle hand?”

  
Sansa was put in a horribly awkward position, and she was sure the Tyrell ladies knew this. Figures, it is just another House looking to wield power from the last standing Lady of Winterfell. She wondered if they knew just how little power she had, how useless the title was. 

  
“I’m to be his wife, I only want to know what that means,” Margaery said softly, and Sansa's gaze went to rest on the youngest Tyrell. She saw a young woman, just like her, just as she was when she arrived to Kings Landing. Young and beautiful, her heart no doubt full from the reality that she was going to marry a King, making she herself a Queen. She saw her soft, golden eyes, and the way her lips remained3 upturned even though she had a concerned expression on her face, but remained beautiful nonetheless. This girl didn’t deserve Joffrey, and didn’t deserve to go through the horrors she herself faced. 

  
She made to reply when the serving boy came around with their lemon cakes, placing them ceremoniously on the table. Sansa breathed an inaudible sigh of relief at the precious moments of delay the young man brought her along with the food. 

  
“Bring me some cheese,” Olenna ordered.  
“The cheese will be served after the cakes my lady,” the boy said, confusion written on his face.

  
“The cheese will be served when I want it served,” she barked back, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “And I want it served now.”

  
The boy managed a quick, nervous nod before he bowed out of the alcove and rushed off to satisfy Lady Olennas order. Sansa's eyes followed him as he left, as she almost longed for his presence back to alleviate the insurmountable pressure building on her as a result of the current conversation.

  
“Are you frightened child?”

  
She was.

  
“Theres no need for that,” Olenna said dismissively, as though she read her mind, even though it was more likely her face. “We’re only women here. Tell us the truth, no harm will come to you.”

  
An empty promise that had cost her dearly before. But what choice did she have? Sansa might have been naïve but she wasn’t stupid, and recent events had taught her to open her eyes to the game and realize when she was being played. They both very well knew the answer to their questions, but they wanted to hear how Sansa would respond.

  
“My father always told the truth,” she said quietly, looking back to her hands, unable to meet Olenna’s hard gaze.

  
“Yes, he had that reputation, and they named him traitor and took his head.”

  
Sansa couldn’t help but flinch, for the words still cut her deeply. She mentally chastised herself for showing such weakness, and she snapped her eyes to Olenna, a fire burning within here at the repeated mention of the word traitor associated with her father’s name. “Joffrey,” she said, sharper then she ought to. “Joffrey did that.” Now she looked to Margaery, with the same cold stare she gave her grandmother. Sadness graced the Tyrells features, and Sansa almost felt regret over addressing her with such passion. Almost.

  
"He promised he would be merciful and he cut my father’s head off. He said that was mercy. He took me up on the walls and made me look at it,” her voice began to waver as she recalled the traumatizing memory. She took a sharp breath and immediately realized what she had done; her face turned crimson with embarrassment of such a display, in front of such a prominent house, the future queen herself. Her emotions always did get the better of her, and this was another sickening reminder of just how foolish she really was. She was about to stutter out an apology when a soft voice cut through her thoughts as though they were nothing. 

  
“Go on.”

  
And then a soft hand was gently pressed around her own, which had gathered a trembling fistful of her dress in her lap. She looked up to see Margaery closer than before, not quite worry etched in her features, but something of sympathy, concern. It looked quite genuine, and Sansa mentally applauded her if this was indeed acting. Margaery, Joffrey’s future wife, seemed the very embodiment of everything that was kind and pure. Everything he was not. She found herself swallowing down the apology she almost choked out, and her heart slightly calming its pace. She couldn’t help but be very aware of the warm hand still gripping hers. But then, she remembered with a sinking feeling, that this was Kings Landing, where no information is free, and no punishment is let go. Soon this will be Margaery Lannister.

  
“I-I cant, I never meant-my father was a traitor, my brother as well. I have t-traitors blood, please don’t make me say anymore.” She pleaded, realizing her mistake. She was expecting Joffrey to come raging through the gardens any minute, sword in hand to gut her himself.

  
“She's terrified, grandmother, just look at her,” Margaery said softly, her eyes pleading with Olenna. Sansa couldn’t help but feel a pang of irritation, she felt like a child who was being coaxed into saying what the adults wanted her to. 

  
“Speak freely child,” Olenna said, her voice losing its edge, softening into that of what a normal grandmother might sound like. “we would never betray your confidence, I swear it.”

  
Sansa wanted to believe her, but past experience screamed that she shouldn’t. That trusting the Tyrells could be as dangerous as trusting the Lannisters, that these two women couldn’t care less about her or her past, certainly did not care about her future. But she found herself speaking the words anyway, perhaps because she was tired. Perhaps because someone needed to say them. She continued to stare at her hands, as though not maintaining eye contact meant she wasn’t really saying them at all, not really. 

  
“He's a monster,” she said quietly, defeated. Her eyes stung with tears, another reason to hate herself and everything she was.

  
“Ah,” Olenna said, as though that settled everything. “That’s a pity,” she said looking to Margaery, who shrugged and took another sip of her wine.

  
“Please, don’t stop the wedding,” Sansa said in horror.

  
Lady Olenna chuckled, “Have no fear, the lord oaf of Highgarden is determined Margaery shall be queen.”

  
Sansa dared look at Margaery when Olenna said this, and she received a sad smile from the Tyrell girl, as she looked almost ashamed and unable to meet Sansa's eye. She immediately regretted saying such things about Joffrey, no matter how true they were. The look of utter defeat on Margaery's face had not been worth it. She tried to tell herself it was better than getting a nasty surprise on her wedding night, but it didn’t bring her much comfort. 

  
“Even so we thank you for the truth,” Olenna said honestly, with a hint of finality. Sansa got the impression that they were done here, and it was time she took her leave.

  
“Lady Olenna, Lady Margaery, I apologize again for my outburst. It was rather unbecoming. If it pleases you I will take my leave, I’m rather tired.” She wasn’t exactly lying. Dining with Olenna had taken a great deal out of Sansa emotionally, and right now she wanted to get away from talks of treason, murder, and abuse. She lived through the torture enough daily.

  
“Of course my child,” Olenna said before resuming to her nearly empty wine glass.

  
“Let me escort you Sansa,” Margaery spoke, as she made to get up.

  
“Please, it is no trouble Lady Margaery.”

  
“I insist,” she replied sweetly. Sansa could see she had lost this battle.

  
She walked with Margaery back towards The Keep, unsure of what to say. Her outburst into damn near tears left her feeling rather weakened and small in the presence of the future queen, no matter how much Margaery didn’t seem to mind. Sansa was still having trouble reading the girl, her true intentions. Thankfully it was Margaery that broke the silence.

  
“I must apologize for my grandmother’s…insistence, she thrust upon you,” she said, struggling to find a respectful word for what transpired. “I could see it caused you a great deal of pain, I want you to know I appreciate the honesty regardless. I shall not ask that of you again.” She said earnestly.

  
“Its quite all right Lady Margaery. I do hope this does not affect the way you might perceive me.” Sansa replied timidly.

  
“Never,” Margaery whispered, her eyes sincere. She cleared her throat and looked awkward for a moment. “Forgive me if I’m being forward, but I would very much like for us to get to know each other more. Would you mind if I sent for you in the evening after dinner?”

  
Sansa was slightly taken aback by the question, though she acknowledged that she shouldn’t be. Of course Lady Margaery wanted to get to know her better; no doubt her grandmother had a hand in this. Sansa, being the only remaining heir to Winterfell, was sure she grabbed the attention of many great Houses. Not necessarily for good reason.

  
She wouldn’t dare turn down Margaery's request however, she knew she already hadn’t started on the best foot with the Tyrells after what happened at lunch. She didn’t need anymore enemies than she already acquired.

  
“It would be my pleasure, Lady Margaery,” Sansa replied politely.

  
Margaery tossed back her head and laughed melodically, “Please, Sansa, just Margaery. Where might I find you?”

  
“My quarters in the Keep. My handmaiden, Shae, will greet you.”

  
Margaery smiled that gorgeous lopsided smile that was contagious in the best way to Sansa. “I look forward to it Sansa. Until then,”

  
She gently touched Sansa's shoulder before she departed, meeting her eyes and causing Sansa to feel unnerved all over again. She didn’t know how to act in Margaery's presence, and her lack of understanding the girls intentions only made her feel doubly so. She let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding, watching as the girl returned to the gardens. She could only hope that tonight wasn’t a repeat of what just happened. She wondered if she would ever tire of hoping for the best.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Margaery** _

She walked slowly and deliberately back to her grandmother who was still waiting in the gardens. She dared take a look back at Sansa who she departed with at the garden gates, her heart sinking as she noticed the way the girls shoulders slumped, how her eyes never left the ground in front of her. She did not walk like a woman who was heiress to a powerful House, she walked like a woman broken.

Margaery sighed and continued on, a thought crossing her mind as to how she could lift the young girls spirits. Perhaps tonight she would invite her to her chambers for a drink, maybe teach her the Dornish game of Cyvasse. She found herself smiling at the thought of bringing the girl out of her shell, a smile that was quickly extinguished when her grandmother's face came back into view, reminding her of why she was really here.

She sat down next to her grandmother as a maid servant rushed to refill her empty goblet. She knew what was coming next.

"Well?" her grandmother inquired.

"We will be meeting tonight after dinner, I told her I would like for us to get to know one another better." The words tasted sour as they left her lips.

"Good," her grandmother said sharply. "Lady Sansa, though she might not feel it, is still the heir to Winterfell. And I'll be damned if those Boltons continue to sully our future lands the way they are. It would be in the best interest to act quickly, wouldn't you think?"

"Yes grandmother," Margaery said quietly. It was no secret that her grandmother wished to gain control of the North. Through Margaery, her House was already doing better than was to be expected. Now the Tyrell family would rule Westeros along with the Lannisters, but when it came to power it was never enough. One could never be sated, no amount of land conquered would bring any ruler satisfaction until they had _more_.

This is where Lady Sansa came in. It was her grandmother's master plan to befriend the poor girl, gain her trust, fill her head back up with the fairy tales that she had senselessly beaten out of her. Yes, Loras Tyrell and Sansa Stark would make a perfect match to breed a young Tyrell heir to be shipped off to his new position as Warden of the North. Thus bringing their power scheme full circle. They could be the most powerful House in the Realm.

And Loras would be good to her, truly, as long as Sansa did not expect to bed her own husband for any purpose other than procreation. The thought brought the sour taste back again, Margaery decided she didn't like the idea of leading the poor girl on for personal gain, but this was the game of thrones. One must push such feelings of empathy, loyalty, and moral virtue aside if one wanted to win.

"She looks so…" Margaery wasn't sure of a word that could describe Sansa's fragile state. "Sad," she finished lamely.

Her grandmother barked a harsh laugh, "Sad? Of course the girl is sad, she had her entire family butchered by the very people she has to live with as prisoner. See them everyday. Plus young Joffrey torments the girl to no end. I wonder exactly what he does with her for pleasure," Olenna said thoughtfully.

Margaery wondered too, but she wasn't quite sure she wanted to know the details in their entirety. Gods know she already suffered from enough guilt as it was. She shouldn't be so harsh on herself though; she had been taught since she was a babe the importance of the game, had it hammered into her head. It was part of her very being now. Without her great ambitions, she would have nothing.

"I wonder that myself," Margaery agreed. "She looked terrified at the mere mention of him. He sounds quite cruel."

"Cruel cannot begin to describe that little beast. But you my dear, are not Lady Sansa. The girl is afraid of her own shadow. No, you will manage Joffrey much better than she. She made the mistake of showing weakness to him, and though the boy might be dim, he's not a total loss. He seized that opportunity when Sansa presented it to him. You will do no such thing."

"Of course not," she said idly, as she swirled the red liquid around in her goblet. She suddenly felt very tired, even though she had just arrived. She prepared her whole life for this moment, she thought she would be ecstatic that her dreams were finally coming true. So why did she feel so empty, so dissatisfied? It wasn't Sansa's description of Joffrey, for that she already knew. Perhaps getting everything she ever wanted wasn't as glamorous as it looked from the outside. Perhaps no one truly won at this game.

"Fix your face this instant Margaery. I can see the wheels turning in your head, now is not the time to be emotional."

Margaery carefully placed her stoic mask back on, agreeing with her grandmother even though she wished she couldn't. She was so deep in her thoughts she hadn't heard the sound of steel boots approaching.

"Lady Margaery," came the smooth drawl of King Joffrey, and she looked up to see the King standing before her surrounded by his armed guard. He looked every bit as pompous as the first time she saw him, and she wanted nothing more than to get sick on his outrageous golden cloak. Ever the lady she was, she managed a flawless curtsey instead, smiling a sickeningly sweet smile at him.

"Your Grace, how lovely it is to see you again."

"As you, my lady. Walk with me to The Keep." It was not a request, this Margaery knew. She abandoned her wine and gave a final glance to her grandmother. Her expression was unreadable, but that didn't mean Margaery was clueless to what she expected. She smiled to the elder lady, "I'll see you at dinner, grandmother."

"Yes yes," Olenna replied with a wave of her hand. Her grandmother was waiting with bated breath for Margaery to win over Joffrey's affections, study him as though he were an experiment, learn his wicked ways and how she may maintain them.

"My lady, you take my breath away with your beauty," Joffrey said romantically, as he gazed at her with hooded eyes, the lashes so golden they almost shone in the sunlight. With a lurch of her stomach she couldn't help but picture Jamie Lannisters face.

"Your Grace is too kind. I so dreamt of this day to be your darling betrothed," she keened, squeezing his bicep lovingly. "You are a wonderful King, bringing order fair and just."

Joffrey clicked his tongue, "Right, it has been a mess trying to bring Kings Landing back to its former glory, no thanks to my grandfather's blasted interference. I swear he and that _imp_ only look to corrupt my rule."

"They are jealous of you I'm sure your Grace," Margaery said, buttering him up. "They are afraid, for they know they could not manage the role you do, so they desperately cling on every decision they have left."

He smiled triumphantly at her ridiculous statement. She could already read Joffrey very well, considering the short time she has known her future husband. While more outspoken than the conniving tongue of Cersei, his goals were that of a true Lannister. To obtain power, whether or not that meant leaving a trail of bodies behind them. Margaery wondered if she too, would be capable of killing to get what she wanted. She tried to tell herself it would be circumstantial.

"My grandfather made my uncle the Master of Coin." He said simply, and Margaery wasn't sure if it were meant to be a good thing or bad, so she remained on neutral ground.

"I thought the position was that of Lord Baelish?" she asked, doing her best to sound like a simple maiden, fanning her eyelashes curiously at him.

"Lord Baelish is betrothed to Lady Arryn now, and good riddance at that. Lord Baelish seems to be wherever there is scheming about, just begging for a reason to lose his head. Ah but my lady," he said, his tone changing from irritation back to loving in the blink of an eye. "Such matters do not need to be discussed in front of a remarkable lady such as yourself, tell me, how are you liking your stay in Kings Landing thus far?"

"Its wonderful your Grace, more than I could have expected."

They remained quiet for a moment, the sound of their footfalls echoing through the halls of the keep. The had to agree Kings Landing wasn't without its charms aesthetically, though Margaery found it hard to forget about the blood that ran through these walls. She could pretend though, better than most.

"When you are Queen, you needn't worry about a thing. I'll protect my lady wife from treasonous bastards that threaten our way of life. As I did with the traitor Ned Stark." His words were laced with venom, but it was impossible to ignore the pride in his voice, the way his eyes lit up as he relived the kill. "I have his head mounted on the battlements, perhaps I will show my lady if it pleases her."

She swallowed the bile that had risen up her throat and smiled broadly, "I would love nothing more Your Grace. I wish to see the what happens to those who dare go against our good King. I have heard, Lady Sansa still resides in the Keep?"

She didn't speak of her meeting with Sansa Stark for good reason. She and her grandmother thought it best to meet with Sansa without Joffrey's presence or questions. They both knew that Cersei was certainly in her beloved sons ear, warning him of the enemies disguised around every corner, and her grandmother had her reputation of being a more than capable player. No, her first meeting with Sansa would be on her terms, before Joffrey could fill her ears with regurgitated information from Cersei.

"Yes, Lady Sansa, my betrothed before I was blessed with a lady such as you," he stopped to look her in the eyes, lifting her hand slowly to his cold lips. She smiled flirtatiously, forcing a flush upon her face.

"Thank you, your Grace. I'm truly honored."

He hummed and continued, towards Margaery's quarters to her relief. Spending such few minutes with him was already nauseating, the fact that she would have to do much more than this was even more so.

"I have…plans for Lady Sansa. A bitch with traitor blood in her veins has her uses I'm sure."

The way he said those words made Margaery's skin crawl. She saw the hunger in his expression when he spoke of the girl, but not the type you see in a lovers eyes. Joffrey's expression looked as though he wanted to devour her, in the worst of ways. Margaery could see Lady Sansa was very much a damaged person, the way her shoulders sagged and her eye contact was fleeting. She always seemed to regret speaking, as though her very presence was a burden upon the world. If Joffrey broke her any more, she would be of no use to anyone, including house Tyrell. No Lord wanted to marry a battered woman from a previous man, and Margaery felt her gut twist as her thoughts wandered to Sansa's maidenhood, and the possibility that it may have already been taken by the mad King. Surely rape wasn't beneath him.

Thankfully, they had reached Margaery's chambers not a moment too soon. She needed time to process Joffrey's personality some more, adapt to it, to be the perfect wife for someone like him. She would have to change herself drastically, pretend that she got the same excitement out of his violent, rash decisions as he did, though bring him down to a lesser, safer scale without raising suspicions. She turned to her betrothed giving him a lopsided smile, pretending to look weary.

"Your Grace, I must admit I am still tired from my journey. I hope you wouldn't mind if I retired to my chambers before dinner?"

His mouth twitched, and for a panic inducing moment she struggled to read his expression. Thankfully the moment passes, and he returned a charming grin that didn't reach his eyes. She wondered if any of them did, when he wasn't beheading another peasant or lashing another servant.

"Of course, Lady Margaery. I take my leave," he said almost tightly, before bowing and walking briskly away, his guards rushing to catch up to him.

She heaved the heavy oak door open to her chambers and let it slam shut, leaning her back against the cold wood and letting her eyes wander to the ceiling. She released a breath she didn't realize she had been holding, the action leaving her slightly dizzy. She looked around, taking in her new home, for in a months time she will be married to Joffrey and take the name Lannister. She left a garden of roses to live in a den of lions, telling herself the payoff in the end would be worth it. But what good was the payoff if she couldn't control her mad husband?

She would have to learn to. Margaery Tyrell was never one to back down from a challenge, no matter how unstable the challenge may be. This was for her House and her security, and she wasn't going to let a little brat like Joffrey fuck things up for her.

* * *

Dinner had been an exhausting affair in itself, finding herself in between Joffrey and Cersei Lannister was not the ideal seating plan she had in mind, but she seized it as an opportunity to engage more with the lioness. Knowing Cersei, she would make sure she was very much a part of Margaery's life as Joffrey was, and for that reason Margaery must know the woman herself. She couldn't help but notice the woman's constant scowl over her umpteenth glass of wine, knowing very well that her presence was the likely reason for Cersei's foul mood.

"Your Grace," Margaery said turning to her, painfully aware how she would be stripped of the title in a months time. "I never got the chance to thank you for your generous hospitality you and your family have provided us. I have fallen in love with your city."

Cersei side eyed her, holding the scrutinizing gaze far longer than most would deem comfortable. "No, you didn't. I imagine you have been quite busy since your arrival." With that Cersei glanced to her son, a look almost possessive in nature. "I am glad you are enjoying your stay." It didn't escape Margaery that the Queen Regent made it sound more like a vacation than Margaery's permanent home.

"I offer my condolences for your loss Lady Margaery. I'm sure the false king loved you dearly," Cersei then said, not bothering to hide the bite in her tone, making it clear that this was how she wanted things to go with Margaery. But the Tyrell knew how to talk to bitter old highborns like Cersei, and she wore a smile that could put sugar to shame.

"Yes, Renly was a good man, but far too kind for leading. I mean the man was so gentle he barely touched drink," she replied with a chuckle, taking a moment to relish in the reaction she received from Cersei, no doubt recalling the times when Robert Baratheon would stumble into their chambers reeking of drink and piss, his massive stomach heaving as he ordered her to strip her clothes.

"And how is your brother, Ser Loras? No doubt he was saddened to hear of the passing of his King." Cersei scathed, and Margaery was shocked at how far Cersei would take this, whatever this horrible interaction was between them. How little she cared who may overhear, or who she may offend. But Margaery didn't let her face betray her.

"He mourns as well all do, your Grace," she said simply, before turning back to Joffrey, linking his arm into hers and purred in his ear, "my love, the feast is just wonderful, your people have truly outdone themselves," she could practically hear the grinding of Cersei's teeth.

"They are your people now as well my Lady," Joffrey smirked at her. "And they will do whatever we wish. Just wait until our wedding feast, it will be a sight to behold!" he cheered, raising his glass. His face was reddened, the drink already affecting him. Despite his lineage, she wondered if Robert Baratheon's habits had an impact on Joffrey, but after seeing the copious amounts of wine Cersei put away on a daily basis, along with Tyrion, she decided it was probably just another toxic side effect of living in Kings Landing.

She then glanced to Tyrion, seated at Cersei's right, probably adding to the already foul mood the Queen Regent was nursing. The Imp, they called him. And it was no secret that Cersei blamed the dwarf for the gruesome death of their beloved mother, along with Tywin Lannister. It seemed the only one Tyrion had on his side was his dear brother Jamie, who was currently in gallivanting somewhere with Brienne of Tarth, much to the eldest sisters dismay, and unable to keep Cersei from breathing down his neck.

She sighed, her eyes skimming the crowded room, desperately trying to ignore the possessive way Joffrey's fingers dug into her arm. He would be a wild lion to tame, that much she was sure of. She wondered about the Lannisters current plans, for she would soon be heavily involved once she was crowned Queen. She knew that House Lannister now stood to control the North, through their alliance with the Boltons and the Freys as a result of the disturbing Red Wedding. She thought what it must have been like to be Robb Stark in that moment, when the Rains of Castamere began to play, when he realized that this was no longer a celebration but that of his death. As for the finer details regarding the war, Margaery was unsure, for Joffrey believed it wasn't the place for a lady to be involved with such matters. But she had her ways.

A flash of red drew her eyes, and she saw Sansa seating herself at one of the long tables; strangely enough, Lord Baelish had been right behind her, skulking so carefully she almost hadn't noticed he was there. He say beside Sansa and was leaning in, she could see his lips moving almost imperceptibly. She found the pair strange, she wondered what Petyr Baelish could possibly want with the disgraced Stark girl. If the rumors regarding Lord Baelish were true, she figured it wasn't just small pleasantries. She couldn't see Sansa's face, and her body language didn't give much away, as it remained in its depressive resolve as it always did.

She felt her eyes narrow on their own accord and looked to her grandmother, who was staring at her with a warning glare. Fix your face, Margaery. Give nothing away. She was sure Olenna knew what had captured her attention, and she gave her a knowing look to say worry not, that they would handle this situation as they did the others.

Margaery took a careful sip of her wine, she did not want to be clouding her thoughts. These next few weeks would require her attention to detail to be on point. Still, as she tried to turn her attention to the other guests, to her betrothed, anyone, her eyes kept wandering back to the pair, surprised by the slight irritation tightening in her chest. She was protective of Sansa, as she should be, for she was her House's key to the North, and she did not need Petyr Baelish forcing his way in her head and muddling everything up. Besides, the poor girl has been through enough on top of that.

Suddenly, the Lords eye was upon her, his expression almost hinting at satisfaction, looking like the cat that got the cream. She remained impassive, but held her gaze, swallowing hard when he stood and squeezed Sansa's shoulder. It reminded her of the way Joffrey was squeezing her own arm now, and it did not sit well with her. He tore his gaze and left Sansa to her meal, which she had hardly touched. She could now see the girls profile, and it was plain to see that she was not as adept at hiding her emotions as well as Margaery and most players. That, or she just didn't care.

She looked up suddenly, and met Margaery's eyes, the Tyrell could almost make out the stunning blue of them from here. Margaery smiled warmly at her, but faltered when the Stark's shoulders hung a little more and the girl looked away, staring nervously at her untouched meal. Margaery wracked her brain wondering if Sansa always looked like a frightened bird, which was very likely in itself, or if Baelish had been the cause of Sansa's stress, or at least an attribution to it. The pit of her stomach told her it was the latter.

It was no matter; she would be meeting with Sansa later this evening, perhaps she could quell the girls concerns and convince her that she had a friend here in Kings Landing. Perhaps, Sansa deserved just that, and she tried to ignore the pang of guilt blooming in her chest. She tried to tell herself that just because they had plans for Sansa, doesn't mean she was going to disregard the girls well being. This was for her well being, for laying in a bed of roses surely had to be better than laying in a den of lions.

Right?

* * *

The sun was setting beautifully by the time Margaery escaped the awkward dinner. She came up with the excuse that she wanted to explore more of the famous gardens she had heard so much about, for which Joffrey laughed and asked condescendingly if she hadn't seen enough flowers in Highgarden. She took the jab with a smile, and rubbed his shoulders, providing a ridiculous excuse that the flowers in Highgarden paled in comparison to the superior flora of Kings Landing. She could sense the dramatic eye roll from Cersei, but he allowed her to go nonetheless, thankfully alone as he would rather drink and jest with the likes of Meryn Trant and his goons. Really, she just needed to get away for awhile and reflect.

She found herself walking aimlessly, distracted by the beautiful colors of pink and gold lighting up the sky, making her heart clench painfully at the reminder of her home. Of the reminder of Lannister gold. Her stone path led her up to a terrace that sat high, making the view ever more breathtaking. Not but the sound of the ocean beating gently against the shore filled her ears, soothing her active mind.

She stopped short of the sight that met her at the top of the landing; Sansa was there, accompanied by a couple of Lannister guards, kneeling down at the stone with her dress splayed around her. Her red hair shone brilliantly in the fading sun, rivaling the sunsets beauty. It was honestly a shame her brother had the preferences he did. She had to stop and admire the girl, for suddenly Margaery didn't care much about the view anymore. She had her hands clasped in prayer, and Margaery realized quickly that she shouldn't be here and should leave her be, but she couldn't keep her stare from Sansa's face, reflecting the deep burdening sadness she carried. Whatever Sansa was stressed about had her up here, praying to the Gods for an answer. Margaery hoped she could provide her with one. She cleared her throat softly, afraid of startling the girl.

Her attempts went in vain as Sansa was startled regardless. Her head whipped in Margaery's direction and she slowly got to her feet, her expression hesitant.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," Margaery said softly, a lopsided smile on her face. Even though she intentionally disturbed Sansa.

"You haven't," was the response, but she was sure that she had.

Margaery looked at the guards as though she just noticed they were still present, "we'd like some privacy please, if you wouldn't mind waiting back inside the keep?" she said coolly. Sansa definitely wouldn't feel comfortable speaking with her around the guards.

To her annoyance, they didn't move an inch. She began to walk past them anyway, her head held high.

"Or if you'd be kind enough to give me your names, I'll ask the King to speak with you himself," smiling wickedly at Sansa; much to her glee, it earned her a small smile in return.

She listened for the sound of the guards quickly retreating steps before she came to stand in front of Sansa.

"What did you pray for?" Margaery asked playfully, raising an eyebrow.

"I cant tell you," Sansa whispered, and while she wore a smile it was obvious Sansa was not happy.

Margaery chuckled and hooked her arm in Sansa's, who looked a little taken aback but recovered quickly. "Why not? I'll tell you what I prayed for in the Sept this morning. Let's see…for my family's health and happiness; the end to the war, short winter. Boring and traditional I'm afraid. And you?" Margaery inquired again, wondering how far she might push the girl on the subject.

Sansa looked thoughtful, almost torn about Margaery's curiosity. Like she wanted to tell her, but-

"I'm…sorry, I just can't," she said it sadly, as though she were disappointed in herself.

"No matter," Margaery said, squeezing Sansa's arm gently. "I wont press you further."

They walked in silence; Margaery lead with a slow, deliberate pace, wanting to lengthen her time with Sansa. She was leading her to her chambers, as was their original plan. Margaery just hadn't expected to find her where she did, looking lost upon the terrace and praying desperately to anyone who would listen. Looking beautiful as she did so.

Margaery forced the image of her mind, it was clear she would have to initiate the conversation with Sansa. She wondered what she had been like before Kings Landing ruined her.

"My cousin Alanna was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen; when I was twelve I was all elbows and knees and Alanna looked like a goddess sent to torture me," Margaery said in humor, trying to get a smile out of the young girl. "Pig face, she called me!" and Sansa laughed, quiet, but Margaery heard it nonetheless, taking it as a win.

"Pig face, that's ridiculous!" Sansa said, smiling wide. Margaery could practically see her shoulders relaxing with each step.

"I think it was because of my nose," Margaery said thoughtfully. "Whenever she'd pass me in the halls she'd oink." She added in a snort, for effect, eliciting another giggle from Sansa. "So I prayed she catch a horrible skin disease, a week later she had porridge plague," she finished satisfactorily.

"Porridge plague?"

"Oh you don't have it in the North?" Margaery said, intrigued, while Sansa shook her head looking slightly mortified.

"Your skin starts to look like boiled oats and your face slides off and you die in agony," she stressed to poor Sansa, who was definitely mortified by now.

"But that's awful!" she cried, stopping mid-step.

Margaery nodded, looking solemnly at the ground. It wasn't long before her resolve broke and she snorted with laughter most undignified.

"You're-!" Sansa's mouth opened with shocking realization, before breaking into a beautifully rare smile. A smile, she thought, that was much more radiant than Alanna's.

"I believed you!" Sansa said as their laughter died down. "Porridge plague, I'm an idiot," she said it with a smile, but Margaery wondered if it was truly in jest.

She bit her lip, "No you're not, don't say that," she said in earnest. She wanted Sansa to believe her.

Sansa blushed slightly under Margaery'a gaze, before looking away and changing the subject.

"So, what happened to Alanna?"

"Well, she grew up to be the most beautiful woman and married a handsome lord and had darling children and lived in a castle by the sea," Margaery listed. "its all terribly frustrating."

They stopped at another terrace, quieting a moment to look at the ocean once more.

"I'm sure she'll be jealous of you now," Sansa said suddenly. "You'll be married in the capital, and she'll have to come watch and pretend to be happy."

Margaery had grown to read people well, and her instincts told her that Sansa wasn't just talking about her cousin. She wondered what it felt like, to be in Sansa's shoes, on the outside looking in but all the while knowing exactly what was inside.

She took Sansa's hands in her own without thinking and tried to ignore the way Sansa flinched as she did so. "I want us to be friends," she said, truthfully. "Good friends."

Sansa looked at their entangled hands, something flashing on her face that Margaery didn't recognize. Almost like Sansa was terrible sorry, as though everything about this was wrong. Margaery would hope for Sansa that she would be suspicious, it would mean she was learning, shedding the naivety. Suspicions of hers and her grandmother's intention would be a healthy change from her foolishly trusting nature.

Margaery would just have to get used to the less than pleasant aspect that came with her duty, but that didn't mean she couldn't lessen the pain for the Stark girl along the way. she wanted this with Sansa too, even if her husband hated the girl, did she have to? She expects Joffrey's answer would be yes, hopefully not too forcefully, but the truth was she liked Sansa, and Sansa needed that. Margaery need it.

The moment was gone and Sansa put on a hesitant smile, looking very unsure. "That would make me very happy."

"You must see Highgarden!" Margaery exclaimed as though the thought suddenly came to her, when it had indeed been weighing on her mind long before this. "You'd love it there I know you would. We have a great masquerade before the night of the harvest moon," she reminisced fondly. "you should see the costumes, they work on them for months."

Sansa's face fell once again, and Margaery was sure she pushed to far. Sansa saw right through her now.

"I…I don't think the Queen will let me leave Kings Landing." She said forlornly.

Margaery squinted her eyes, the corners of her lips upturning, "Queen Regent, you mean? Once I marry Joffrey, then I'll be Queen." This was it. She was going to make her suggestion now, and Sansa would see it as a way out. Which it was, Margaery told herself. A way out, to save her from Kings Landing. She just happened to be strengthening her House along the way. That was the whole reason her grandmother had them all sit down, at least it used to be. Part of Margaery thought that it was a mere bonus now, and the real prize was saving Sansa from this nightmare, and that scared her. She didn't come here to make friends.

"And…if you were to marry Loras-"

Sansa's eyes lit up beautifully at that statement. Apparently Sansa Stark already had an interest in her dear brother. It would make this all the more easier, but Margaery once again found herself feeling sorry for the girl. She wondered if Loras would hide his indulgences from her, and merely aid her in producing an heir, or if he would tell her the truth, and do that anyway.

"-Your place would be at Highgarden," she finished. "We would be sisters, you and I. Would you like that?"

Sansa smiled wider than Margaery had seen her capable of since arriving. "I would, thank you..." she trailed off shyly, as though it were too good to be true.

Margaery beamed and embraced the Stark girl, resting her chin on her shoulder and snaking her arms around her middle. Gods, Sansa was awfully thin. She could feel the nodes of her spine through the gown but said nothing, and she was distracted by something else; snow, Sansa smelt of snow. Almost like fresh, forest air that you could only find in one place. Margaery knew this, because she had never been up North, and never smelled this scent. Sansa smelled of the North, and Margaery found herself holding on longer than she knew she should have, but she was captivated by it. She also looked at Sansa differently, like she stuck out further than before. How obvious it was that she did not belong here. Not just in Kings Landing, but the South in general.

Sansa stiffened slightly in her embrace and Margaery jumped back a little too quickly.

"Forgive me Sansa," she said, laughing. "I've been so lost in thought lately, with everything going on."

"Its alright," she replied politely, though she looked quite awkward.

"Come," Margaery said sweetly, taking her arm once again. "Let's go to my chambers, I could use a drink."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! In case you're wondering, I am updating this story based on how much writing I get done. Sometimes it's twice a week, sometimes once. Also, Sansa is sixteen in this fic rather than 14 in the show. Enjoy!

_**Sansa** _

Sansa absolutely despised the color red, for all the obvious reasons. The way it painted the dirt when they lopped off her father's head, the cloaks of the guards that tore her from his body, Joffrey's tunic, the carpets and walls that bled all around her. It was no surprise that Lannister red was the theme of Margaery's chambers as well.

Unfortunately her disdain must have shown on her face because Margaery was now looking at her with concern. "is something wrong, Sansa?"

"No, no I'm fine," she lied, terribly. For a second she was worried Margaery might press the matter, but to her relief she dropped it, busying herself with the wine. Sansa wondered for a moment where her handmaiden was.

"I like my privacy," Margaery said, startling Sansa slightly. Margaery's back was to her, but it was as though she read her mind. "I love my ladies but I do not need someone around to pour my wine for me." She was silent a moment, the sound of the red liquid gently splashing into the goblets sounded deafening.

"It gets rather loud, sometimes," Margaery added quietly. The future queen looked very tired for a moment, replacing the once lively spark in her eyes with something dull, and it wasn't a good look for her.

Sansa had a hard time believing Margaery's story she told earlier, regarding her beautiful cousin. She had a hard time, because Margaery was arguably the most beautiful woman Sansa had ever seen. She always looked court ready, in her magnificent expertly tailored gowns, her flowing chestnut hair a perfect crown on her head, accompanied by soft waves down her back. And that smile, almost cheeky, was very charming indeed.

 _She isnt right for Joffrey_.

"Here, Sansa," Margaery said as she handed her the wine. They sat in silence for a moment, but Margaery had a warm, inviting smile on her face, watching Sansa intently.

_She's too good for him._

"What is Highgarden like?" she asked, before her damned face gave her away. "Tell me everything."

Margaery hummed, a pleasant smile on her face and she looked to her wine, "Its wonderful Sansa. The castle is made of beautiful white stone, and the flowers and greens that bloom year round cannot be found anywhere else in Westeros. The sound of music fills the air, and everyone is far kinder than anywhere else I've been. You've deserved it, and you'll love it there," she took a sip of her wine.

Sansa took a rather large sip of her own trying to calm her nerves. She could see why everyone in Kings Landing was driven to drinking themselves into stupors. She wasn't sure how to respond to Margaery's offer. She already knew what the Tyrells had planned for her, that the reason for the whole meeting was ro arrange this little proposal in order to have Sansa Stark in their family's possession, to trade one prison for another. Sansa was tired of politics, barely a woman at the young age of sixteen. Politics murdered her family and stole her home from under her, imprisoned her alone with the very people responsible. She didn't want to play this game.

"Sansa," Margaery said, cocking her head to meet her eyes. "You can speak freely, with me. What is on your mind?"

There was an opening for her, and she figured she might as well get this over with. "Margaery, I appreciate the kindness you've shown me since your arrival, it is not a common gift given to the daughter of a traitor. Which most would wonder why the daughter of a traitor is even Imprisoned rather than beheaded. But I'm sure you can think of such a case, such a reason as to why she might be?"

She paused, trying to gauge Margaery's reaction, but she remained quiet and attentive. Sansa knew Margaery already knew the answer.

"I'm the last Stark of Winterfell left. If I marry Ser Loras, House Tyrell secures the North."

She said it. What was the point in befriending someone who might have poisonous intentions for her, again? She couldn't afford to be foolish anymore, once was enough and it cost her dearly. It cost her everything.

Margaery then smiled a knowing smile and pursed her lips. "You're right, Sansa. And we weren't exactly subtle about it, nor were we trying to. I hope you don't think of me as trying to manipulate you in any way."

That was exactly how Sansa felt, and she chewed her inner cheek until she was sure it was bleeding. This wasn't a very good start to someone who just a couple hours ago said they wanted to be good friends with her, but Sansa was so tired of guessing who she could and couldn't trust. She couldn't rely on others anymore, she had no other option but the direct route. She swallowed the remainder of her wine, enjoying how it burned her throat bitterly. Margaery noticed, and filled her goblet along with her own.

Margaery cleared her throat and began to speak again, "before we arrived to Kings Landing, I was obviously aware of your situation, as was my grandmother, and knew that you had not yet been betrothed to a new husband…rather than risk Cersei or Tywin marrying you off to another Lannister, or a Bolton, or some other dreadful family and have the North fall into their hands, we figured it better if it…"

"Fell into yours?" Sansa said, harsher than she meant. She couldn't help but feel guilt when she saw Margaery wince, so she drank her wine angrily instead, using the burn as punishment.

"Its not like that, not…" she struggled to find the words. "When I met you, and you told me the awful things Joffrey did to you, to your family," her words a bare whisper, "I saw what it has done to you."

Sansa felt like that was a terribly underwhelming statement. "You have no idea what it's done to me…"

Margaery took a deep breath, "I want to help you Sansa. Really, I want you to get out of here. It started with political reasons, but I truly want you to be happy. I want to get you away from all of this before…"

"Before it kills me." Sansa finished flatly. She took another sip of the wine, the liquid beginning to give her courage that wasn't there before. "It hurts that my home is being treated like it doesn't mean anything to me. To my family. It's my _home_. And I'll never see it again." Her voice broke, and she hated herself for it.

"you will," Margaery insisted. "I will make sure you will. You and Loras could even reside there, I'm sure."

"And if he doesn't want that? Besides what good would the army be, all the way up North? I will never reside there again Margaery," she looked down at the wine, the only comfort she was getting from this conversation. "And I need to come to terms with that."

Margaery looked speechless before Sansa looked away, unable to stand her stare any longer. If she kept talking the way she did, she might just talk herself out of Margaery's proposal, and wouldn't that be so typically Sansa? Sabotaging her own life, again?

"I-im sorry," Sansa stammered. "I'm very grateful for your offer to go to Highgarden, and I'm sure it is lovely. You could very well be saving my life and here I am acting like…like…"

Margaery reached out, took Sansa's trembling hand into her soft, warm one and Sansa stopped talking.

"You're acting like someone that's been hurt," Margaery said soothingly. "Never apologize for that. You have every reason not to trust me. But I'm going to prove to you, everyday, that I am on your side. Even if I am sleeping with the enemy, it's for the best for the people I love. Not because I enjoy it. Let me help you, please…"

She ran soothing circles on Sansa's palms with her thumbs, and Sansa hated how it burned her skin.

Margaery knew something was wrong, and she drew her hands away quickly. Sansa's hands began to cool from the loss.

"I'm sorry," Margaery said looking slightly embarrassed. "I'm afraid we are very affectionate in Highgarden, sometimes we don't know when we're being a bit much."

Sansa sucked in a sharp breath; she wanted to tell Margaery, but-

"Its…its foolish," Sansa whispered, immediately regretting it, damn the wine. She drank more all the same.

"Sansa?"

The way she said her name, so full of warmth, so careful. She hadn't heard her name said with such softness since her father was still alive, and her eyes began to burn.

"I haven't…since…" she let out a shaky breath and tried to start again. "No one wants to, to touch the traitors daughter. I have no one here and… human interaction is quite scarce. I'm afraid no one has touched me, embraced me in such way since…" she didn't finish. She was pretty sure she didn't have to. She let her words hang in the air like a storm cloud between them, not raising her head to meet Margaerys gaze, her face burned far too hot to even think of it.

But she heard the small gasp, and once more, "Sansa?"

This time she did look up, and Margaery was taking her hands once again to resume caressing them. Sansa felt her throat tighten and she swallowed the lump that threatened to come out as a sob.

"Is this alright?" Margaery asked softly.

It was, _Gods_ it was, as shameful as she felt. "Yes.." she hadn't noticed when Margaery shifted her chair closer.

Her hands began to wander to her forearms, gently caressing and massaging her frail muscles. Sansa's heart began to thud in her chest, and she looked to Margaery's face to see what she was thinking, but she was focused on her task.

Sansa became mesmerized in the feeling, and it made her terribly sad at the same time. No one bothered with Sansa Stark anymore, no one wants to taint their hands with the traitors kin. But here Margaery was, caressing her as though she _did_ matter, she was so careful and deliberate in her actions it was as though she thought Sansa would crumble under her touch. And maybe she would, and the thought made Sansa feel even more broken. Suddenly, it was too much.

",I-" she cried, standing up as though she was burned, albeit a little unsteady due to the wine. "I don't deserve this Margaery, it's fine, really-" she was terribly ashamed. And this was the future Queen she was blubbering to, would she even want her to marry her brother after such a display of dramatics?

Margaery hushed her softly, standing with her, moving closer. Sansa's anxiety began to spike, Margaery's kindness was unnerving, and unusual to her. There was no where to go, and she felt Margaery's arms closing around her in an embrace, and she immediately stiffened.

"Relax, Sansa," Margaery hushed in her ear, tickling her slightly. And surprisingly, once she heard the girls voice, she did relax a little, though the tears that had filled her eyes since they landed on this topic began to fall, and her body was embarrassingly wracked with silent sobs.

Margaery continued to rub her frail back, no doubt cringing from the way her bones protruded so, filling Sansa with another wave of shame. Margaery was whispering soothing words to her, and Sansa realized that she hadn't been consoled in such a long time. Hadn't had anyone to express her feelings to. She had Shae, but Shae's background didn't allow her the full understanding that someone like Margaery had. The weight that came along with being able to express something like this to someone like Margaery. Every other highborn noble either hated her, plotted to kill her, or wanted to marry her off for land.

As shameful as she felt, she couldn't deny how sickeningly wonderful it was at the same time. She relished in the warmth that was Margaery's arms, how careful she was when cradling Sansa, as though she would turn to dust if she held on too tight. It was beautiful and heartbreaking all at once.

And that _scent_ , she really did smell like rosewater, too. But there was something else, something more. A soothing lavender that calmed her, a rose that pleased her senses. She smelled of a lush garden, but not the one here in Kings Landing, not even close. It smelled of everything sweet and good in the world, and Sansa wanted to remember this smell, for when her anxieties festered and woke her up in the middle of the night, cold and alone and screaming.

She breathed deep, and to her dizzying horror, she exhaled and let out a moan.

She pushed herself from Margaery's sweet embrace, her hand flying to her mouth in embarrassment, wishing the floor would swallow her up and take her to the Black cells, as far away from Margaery as she could get, anywhere but here.

"M-Margaery," she stammered, her face burning. "I'm sorry, I don't-I didn't mean-" Gods, she was hopeless. She waited for the Tyrell to burst out in laughter, to order her from her chambers, and run to her grandmother to say there was no way they were marrying this halfwit into their prestigious family, to be forever known as the stain on House Tyrell.

But Margaery did none of those things. Sansa only now realized that Margaery still had a gentle grip on her wrist, stopping her from running away. Sansa forced herself to meet her gaze, and she saw no ridicule or disgust, even though she was sure that's what she would have found. Margaery's expression was the same as it was; gentle, compassionate and daresay, _loving_. There was something else in her eyes, but it was an expression Sansa didn't recognize in anyone. She felt a slight tug as Margaery gently pulled her towards her once again. Sansa's heart sped up as it did before, but not as painful as it was. It was too busy flooding with relief that Margaery hadn't been put off by her.

Margaery went back to hugging Sansa again, this one almost felt more intimate than before. Sansa bit her tongue to avoid embarrassing herself all over again.

"I like embracing you, Sansa," Margaery whispered in her ear, causing her stomach to flip with the sensation. Everything screamed in her to run, but she couldn't move her weakened legs. "Do you like it too?"

"I…I do," she admitted quietly.

"Then I would like to do it more often," Margaery whispered again. "if you would let me."

"I would…" Sansa sighed, letting her eyes slide shut, exhaustion hitting her like a ton of bricks.

"Good," Margaery said, slowly releasing her, but remained close enough to rub the length of her arms.

"I…I should go," Sansa muttered, rubbing the back of her neck as her face flushed once more.

"You don't have to,"

"Thank you, but…its getting late. I'm sorry…" Sansa said. She really was, but it was getting too much for Sansa. Just this morning she awoke as though it were any other day of the world hating her and casting her aside, alone, but now here she was sobbing into the arms of the future Queen as she whispered sweet nothings into her ear. Sansa needed time to process everything.

"I understand," Margaery said softly, and she rested a hand on Sansa's cheek for a moment. It took everything in her not to lean into the touch. She searched the girls face for the hint of a lie, but she found none. "Can I see you tomorrow?"

Sansa was…surprised, to say the least at Margaery's request. "You…you want to s-see me?"

The Tyrell smiled reassuringly, "Of course. I'll find you in the afternoon. Perhaps we can watch Loras work on his swordsmanship," she said with a wink.

Sansa felt herself smile for what felt like the first time since they had arrived to Margaery's chambers. "I would like that…" Sansa replied. "Margaery?"

"Yes, Sansa?"

"I'm sorry that tonight wasn't…that the conversation became so heavy. It was not my intention for our first meeting."

"Nonsense," she said, giving her hand a squeeze. "it needed to be said. For us to both be open with one another, if we want our friendship to be true. I enjoyed getting to know you, and I look forward to doing that more. I'll be here for you, Sansa." It sounded like a promise, though Sansa would take it at face value. Still, she couldn't stop herself from grinning at Margaery's kind words.

"Alright…until tomorrow, then." Sansa said shyly.

"Tomorrow," Margaery said, it sounded like a promise again.

Sansa let the door to Margaery's chambers close silently behind her, trying to contain her happiness as she went through the halls back to her chambers. She replayed every moment back in her mind, on repeat, never tiring of reliving the wonderful feelings brought on by the girl who gave her a chance.

Sansa didn't care anymore about being used for her title; she didn't care about politics or Cersei and her little inbred beast of a son. She almost stopped caring about never returning to Winterfell. She had a way out of this hell, and would marry the handsome Ser Loras who would stroll with her through the flowers of Highgarden, telling her how beautiful she was. Margaery would visit, and they would laugh and tell stories and Sansa could thank her for her new and wonderful life. It was all going to end, she just had to survive the month until the wedding. And it was all thanks to her new friend.

 _Friend_.

Sansa rounded a corner, stuck on thinking about the luck of it all that someone would want to help her, when she almost collided with a tall figure.

She almost screamed, but instead she let out a sharp gasp and clasped her hands to her chest. "Lord Baelish, you scared me!"

He took a moment to smooth his black tunic, before he gave her a small smile. "Lady Sansa, what are you doing wandering the halls at this hour?"

"I was feeling restless..." she lied, a little better than the last time she attempted to.

"Allow me to walk you to your chambers," he said politely, holding out his arm. She forced a smile and took it, despite not wanting to. She would much rather be alone, and Petyr Baelish made her feel less than comfortable. She knew what he saw in her, be way he acted sometimes. Looking at her as though she were her mother, no doubt the reason he was trying to help her now.

"Have you thought anything more about what we spoke of?" he said in a low voice, leaning close enough to her she could smell the acrid smoke off of him that clung to his clothes from spending the days at his brothel.

She thought back to the conversation they had at the harbor a few days prior, before Margaery arrived, before everything changed.

_She watched bitterly as the ship's sailed out into the open see. Free to go as they please, while Sansa remained anchored here, held captive as a prisoner for the unforeseen future by a family of butchers. Shae sat with her, trying to be as comforting as she could be, but she couldn't know what Sansa was going through. Sansa wished she were dead, and that Joffrey would just get it over with, rather than be tortured every day of her miserable life._

_"Lovely day for it," the she heard the voice before the footsteps, and her and Shae turned to the person it belonged to. Petyr Baelish sauntered over to the girls, much to Sansa's dismay. "For watching the ships," he continued as he approached._

_It wasn't that Sansa particularly disliked the man, but it was the sheer fact that she knew she couldn't trust him. Even that wasn't saying much, considering there was no one she could trust in the Capital, save for Shae. Even still, she watched her words around that woman as well. It was called betrayal for a reason, because the knife is usually wielded by the ones that you dared call 'friend'._

_"Lord Baelish," she acknowledged him quietly, watching as he strode to the end of the dock, his hands clasped behind his back. Baelish never approached anyone without good reason, and Sansa knew he didn't come here to watch the ships as they had. Her suspicions were confirmed when he turned back to the pair,_

_"Might I speak with Lady Sansa alone?" he inquired in his raspy voice, gesturing to her. "For a moment," he added when he saw Shae's wary expression. As loyal as ever, Shae glanced to Sansa, her eyes asking the question if she would surely be alright left alone with him. Shae was smarter than most handmaidens; even she knew the conniving ways of the Highborn Lords and Ladies. Sansa nodded her approval, and with that Shae stood and straightened her gown, before begrudgingly walking to the opposite end of the dock._

_Sansa stood, following Baelish to the end of their side of the dock, until they were looking down into the water. He didn't say anything for a long time, until he did._

_"I havent had the chance to speak with you after what happened to your Mother. I'm sorry Sansa," he said in a low voice, his words dripping with what Sansa knew to be fake pity, despite how he might have felt about the late Lady Stark. "I saw her shortly before the…" thankfully, he didn't finish. She said nothing._

_"And your sister," he spoke again._

_She whipped her head to him, "Arya's alive?" she said incredulously. Her sister, little Arya. She thought back to how they left things, before her Father was executed. They never did get along, and she knew Arya was most likely blaming every bit of his death on Sansa. As she should be. Still, she was relieved to know that her sister made it out of Kings Landing, accomplished what she herself couldn't._

_Her smiled in confirmation before turning his attention back to the water. She couldn't guess what he was thinking._

_"You said you'd take me home," she said, hating how much she sounded like a child. Hated the idea of needing Petyr Baelish's help in the first place._

_"You said Kings Landing was your home," he said, responding as though she were a child, and in that moment she hated the man. She wanted to scream that that was before the Lannisters slaughtered her entire family, but she knew losing her temper would get her nowhere. She had the sick realization that Lord Baelish enjoyed the idea of being needed by Sansa Stark, fulfilling his hero complex. As before, she knew when to keep her mouth shut._

_"You're the property of the crown," he continued, and she tried to ignore how the word 'property' churned her stomach. "Stealing you would be treason, if you were to tell just one-"_

_"I won't tell anyone," Sansa steeled. She wouldn't, not if it meant getting back to Winterfell where she belonged. Lord Baelish would do well to remember that, though she didn't say it._

_"How do I know?" he whispered._

_"Because I'm a terrible liar," was her response. At least she could use his own words to convince him of her vow to silence. "You said so yourself," she reminded him._

_He chuckled a little, but still continued to stare at the water instead of her. She internally groaned at what she was about to do, closing her eyes and steeling her resolve. She had to throw herself at his mercy if she wanted any chance at getting home. Surely begging a man such as Petyr Baelish was better than dying at the hands of a killer known as Joffrey Baratheon?_

_"Please, Lord Baelish," she pleaded with him, "Tell me what to do, tell me where?" She held her breath and waited for his answer._

_He paused for a moment, "I'm waiting for word on an assignment that will take me far away from the Capitol. When I set sail, I might be able to take you with me. But you need to be ready to leave at moments notice."_

_She tried to calm her racing heart, tried not find false hope in Lord Baelish's words, but she couldn't help it as she watched the ships. She imagined it were her on one, hiding below the deck dressed in disguise, her heart pounding in her chest and the overwhelming sense of relief that she had escaped this place. The offer was more than tempting, but on the other hand, Lord Baelish worked with the Lannister's, which already spoke volumes on how trustworthy he is. He could very well be leading her into another trap, one far more dangerous. Perhaps he too, wished to control the North. Would she be offering herself up to be Lord Baelish's new prisoner?_

_She searched his eyes for any hint of malicious intent, but she found none._

_"I'll..." she hesitated, searching for words._

_"You need time to think about it," he said as though he knew what she were thinking. "Don't wait too long, Lady Sansa."_

_The words sounded like a warning, and Sansa took it as such._

But now, Margaery had come along, offering her a way out. One that didn't have to involve Baelish and his plotting. Sansa was on a fence now, and she would almost find the situation amusing, had the circumstances not been so serious. Not long ago, she found herself backed into a corner and out of options. Now she had gained two, the question was, which one was going to fuck her over? Perhaps both, with her luck.

He had been watching her expectantly, and she remembered that he was waiting for her to answer.

"I-I have to think about it more. I'm afraid…" she said, not quite lying.

"Sansa," he said, and the tone of his voice made her skin crawl. He heard that voice, when she had witness him speaking with her mother before. He reached out and touched his hand to her face, caressing it, and she so badly wanted to flinch away in disgust. It felt nothing like Margaery's touch, and Sansa found it strange that comparison had cross her mind at all. Probably because it was just so glaringly obvious.

For a second, she was afraid he was going to kiss her. But instead he just leaned in close, too close.

"You can trust me Sansa. Let me help you," he breathed.

She took a breath and stepped back, and he looked as though he just realized he had been so close to the woman, as he dropped his hand in a quick, awkward motion.

"Lord Baelish, I'm afraid I'm very spent. I will have to think things over some more. I promise, I will come to a decision soon." She could only hope that Margaery was serious about her offer to Sansa. After all, they only just met, it might be foolish to pass up Baelish's now. She couldn't afford to be picky much longer, lest Joffrey get tired of looking at her and takes her head before she can save herself.

It was a sobering thought, to say the least.

He looked at her a moment longer, embarrassment evident in his features. But as quick as it came it was gone again, and he straightened himself. "Of course my lady. We will be in touch." It sounded terribly like a promise, and Sansa felt like a piece of meat all of a sudden, being torn between ravenous highborn families lusting for power.

He turned on his heel and stalked down the hall, his posture making his foul mood clear. Baelish might have thought he had a good game face all the time, but everyone has their moments where that mask slips. Sansa should know, hers slips far too often.

She sighed as she slipped into her chambers, thankful that Shae wasn't there to question her. She needed to be left alone to process all of the information thrown at her today. She dressed in her night clothes and slipped into bed, leaving the candle going as she contemplated reading.

It would hardly be a distraction, she knew. She couldn't help but wonder why she was so special to everyone. Of course, she knew, but she didn't understand why it had to be her. She didn't feel special. She recalled being younger, with stars in her eyes, completely mesmerized by the charms of the Capitol and the blonde haired King. Back then, she would do anything to be special. Adored when Joffrey made her feel as such.

Now, Joffrey made her feel special in a not so pleasant way. That had her thinking of what Margaery might do in a situation where Joffrey were to hurt Sansa. Would she sit idly by, telling her King how just and true he was? Would she save her from his wrath? Protect her as she had insinuated she would, earlier?

Sansa couldn't help but scoff at the suggestion. No one could protect her from Joffrey's wrath, Margaery didn't know what she was getting herself into with that boy. No, she would not protect her, and she would be risking her life if she tried. With that, it only left the option of sitting idly by.

Sansa tried not to imagine Margaery being present for such things. For she knew the girl would feel guilt, and Sansa wouldn't want Margaery to feel like she owed something to Sansa by standing up to her husband. Sansa didn't want her risking her own life for her, she didn't want anyone doing that. Enough people have died because of her.

She contented herself in knowing that she had made at least one friend in Kings Landing. Margaery, with her fair skin and kind eyes. Her pretty words and her soft…touches.

Her face warmed at the memory of Margaery's hands on hers, and the way it made her skin buzz and her heart clench. Of course she couldn't enjoy this memory without the agonizing sense of embarrassment at the way she acted. Margaery surely only pretended not to mind, but she was so kind about it nonetheless, and didn't treat Sansa like some sort of leper. She could only imagine the state she will be in if she starts getting close to Ser Loras.

And suddenly, the thought of being alone with him was nerve wracking to Sansa. That would be normal to most young girls being around their newly betrothed, but Sansa felt an annoying sense of something close to dread. The air felt much more comfortable with Margaery than when she had walked with her brother.

A ridiculous thought, surely. Loras was just a little shyer, a little more soft-spoken than Margaery was. They simply needed to spend more time together, get to know one another more in order to open up. If Margaery thinks he would be good to her, surely his own sister wouldn't be wrong?

She tried not to over think something that hadn't yet been confirmed. Tomorrow, she would see Margaery again and perhaps she would have more information for her. And Loras will be there, maybe she will have spoken to him about it and, hopefully, he will be as excited as she was at the idea. A smile crossed her face thinking of her new friend, and for the first time in months, Sansa went to sleep not dreading waking in the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Margaery_ **

Margaery had been groomed since a very young age to get to where she was now. And she was taught by very powerful players on what it takes to be a good Queen. One if these things was connecting with the small folk and establishing personal bonds with your people, for it is the people that support the Crown, and without the peoples support, the Crown cannot survive.

That's why she found herself in Fleabottom that morning, being chased by her less than pleased handmaiden as the stepped briskly through the flooded streets, ignoring the scowl on her future husbands face as she left the carriage.

"My lady, you'll ruin your dress!" her handmaiden cried.

Margaery looked down as though she were just realizing she was wearing the powder blue gown, now dirtied and muddied on the train from dragging through the streets. She found that she cared far too little.

She shrugged, "I have others."

She had spent the morning greeting the children that eagerly ran to her, there smudged faces beaming brightly and curiously. They expressed how they had never met a Queen before, and they marveled at the short stories she shared with them, and she listened tearfully as they told own tales of tragedy back. Margaery knew meeting with the small folk would be frowned upon by Joffrey and his family, as socializing with them is considered beneath them. But that wasn't how Margaery felt. These people were here people, and now that she had seen the terrible conditions they lived in, she knew she had to help them.

She knew it was possible that her good nature would come around to bite her, she just didn't think it would happen as soon as lunch that very same day.

Joffrey entered the dining hall, with Cersei in tow, where Margaery and Loras were waiting.

"Your Grace," they both said courteously, bowing to the King.

"Please, sit," he said, gesturing to the pair. "I do apologize my lady, small council meetings," he scoffed, shaking his head. "at what point does it become treason to waste the Kings time?"

She and Loras laughed at the attempt at a joke, but it fell short knowing Joffrey really would make that law if he could. She glanced at Cersei, who remained stony faced.

"That's a lovely gown, my lady," Joffrey said to her as his eyes travelled over her body in the most uncomfortable of ways.

"Yes, it suits you perfectly, though I imagine you'd be rather cold," Cersei chimed in, the only thing cold in the room was her tone.

"The climate is a bit more forgiving back in Highgarden, your Grace," Margaery replied with a smile.

"Shall I have them bring you a shawl?" Joffrey then asked. She moved closer to him, smiling lovingly.

"I'm touched by your concern, Your Grace. Lucky for us Tyrells our blood runs…quite warm. Doesn't it Loras?"

"Yes," he agreed, giving a polite nod to her.

Margaery smiled for a moment, enjoying watching Cersei seethe. "Loras, isnt the Queens gown magnificent? The fabric, the embroidery, the metal work. I've never seen anything like it," she said with a voice sweet enough to give Cersei a toothache, which certainly looked like what she was experiencing now.

"You might find a bit of armor useful, when you become Queen. Perhaps before? Joffrey told me you stopped your carriage at flea bottom, on your way back from the Sept this morning." Cersei said smugly, staring daggers at her.

And so it begins. Joffrey too, was watching her, eager to see what sort of excuse she would come up with to explain why his future wife and Queen of Westeros was playing in the mud with common folk. She would not hide her intentions, merely spin her words in a way for it to make sense to the King. This was what she was born to do.

"Yes," she said, as though it was the most normal thing in the world. She looked to Joffrey, who was not meeting her eyes now. "I paid a visit to an orphanage the High Septon told me about."

"Margaery does a great deal for the poor back in Highgarden," Loras said proudly.

"The lower are no different than the higher if you give them a chance," Margaery said, ignoring the incredulous look on Cersei's face. "And approach them with an open heart."

"An open heart is what you'll get in Fleabottom if you're not careful, my dear. Not long ago, we were attacked by a mob there. We had a full compliment of guards that didn't stop them, and the King barely escaped with his life," Cersei said bitterly.

Joffrey cleared his throat, "my mother's always had a penchant for drama. Facts become less and less important to her as she grows older." Margaery could practically hear the grit of Cersei's jaw, and laughed internally. "Our lives were never truly in danger.".

"You're right, of course," she said, her voice deathly quiet. "You're your father's son. We cant all have a Kings bravery."

An awkward silence fell over the room then, and Margaery looked to Loras whose bewildered expression surely matched her own. Thankfully, the food was served, breaking the tension that threatened to suffocate the room.

"Hunger turns men into beasts," Margaery started, in a bid to ease the stifling silence. "I'm glad House Tyrell was able to help in this regard. They tell me a hundred wagons arrive daily from The Reach, wheat, barley, apples. We had a blessed harvest, and of course it is our duty to assist the Capitol in it's time of need."

Joffrey looked thoughtful for a moment before he gave a small, forced smile. "Well, as See Loras said, you've done this sort of…charitable, work before. I'm sure she knows what she's doing," he said to his mother.

Cersei eyed her from the top of her wine glass, looking like she couldn't disagree more with that statement, as though she would like to see Margaery get murdered in a mud puddle down in Fleabottom. But she too forced a smile for her son.

"I'm sure she does."

* * *

Margaery was grateful to be out of the company of that wretched woman and her abomination of a son, and was instead back in the castle gardens, the only place she felt she could find any peace nowadays.

And once more, she was waiting eagerly for Sansa to arrive. She could use a friend in this moment, and she felt like she and the girl really connected the night before. It saddened her to see Sansa feel so undeserving of basic human affection, the shame she carried for enjoying Margaery touching her. Margaery didn't want her to feel shame in such a thing, and she made a side plan for Sansa Stark to help ease her out of that hole she was in. She would embrace the girl, and show her it was okay to do so.

Besides, there was that nagging little part of her that wanted to. The part that she kept shoving down, for this was not her place, and while her brother could get away with it, her eyes were not allowed to wander.

In Highgarden, society was much more liberal in the sense that no one batted at an eye at who you shared a bed with, or how many, as long as your duty to your family always came first.

Which was why, while Margaery found Sansa Stark attractive in every sense, she could not pursue that. She was not hers. Nor was Sansa some handmaiden that she could try to carousel around with behind her husband's back. No, this was for Loras, for her family. She was to be Queen, she had no time for silly, distracting flings.

As if on queue, Sansa came strolling into the garden, looking every bit as nervous as every other time Margaery saw the girl. Still, she looked beautiful all the same.

"Sansa!" she said, happily. "Please sit, I'll pour you a drink."

"Margaery," Sansa said, giving her a shy smile. She sat down beside Margaery, glancing at Loras and his squire for a moment before turning her attention back to her. "I hope today finds you well."

Her thoughts went back to the uncomfortable lunch she just came from and grimaced a little, taking a sip of her wine. "I'm definitely finding it better now that you're here," she sighed.

Sansa looked at with her concern and leaned forward slightly, the sparring match with Loras and his Squire quickly forgotten. "What happened?" she asked softly. Margaery's heart warmed at Sansa's concern over her, though she wasn't sure if she should burden the other girl with her problems when she carried oh so many of her own.

She chewed her lip, her eyes focused on the sparring match in front of them. She wanted to confide in the girl, perhaps if she did, Sansa would feel safe if she ever wanted to do the same. Besides, Margaery already know they were on common ground when it came to opinions on Cersei Lannister.

She chuckled bitterly, "My new Queen Mother hates me."

Sansa laughed at that, and Margaery raised an eyebrow, smirking at the red head. "What's so funny, Sansa Stark?"

Sansa bit her lip and looked away for moment, "Well you can't take that personally, Cersei Lannister hates everyone," she whispered.

"Yes, she's a rather crusty old cow," Margaery muttered over her wine glass, relishing how it felt to say those words.

"Margaery!" Sansa gasped, looking around wildly to see if anyone heard, before she broke out into a grin, "Gods, never in my life have I heard someone speak of her that way!"

It was refreshing, what they were now sharing together. Margaery felt lighter than she had since arriving to Kings Landing, Gods know she wouldn't have any other opportunity to do so. The thought left a bad taste in her mouth, effectively killing the mood. She tried not to think about the day Sansa marries Loras and leaves for Highgarden, leaving Margaery behind with her husband the King. She scolded herself internally, because she chose this. She has no right to feel any sort of way about Sansa leaving for Highgarden, except happiness for making it out.

Sansa must think she's a fool, for choosing this life. For choosing the throne. If she only knew what little choice she had.

There was movement beside her, and she turned her gaze to Sansa who had sat taken the seat next to her. She tilted her head, looking at Margaery with her piercing blue eyes and she suddenly felt very vulnerable under her gaze. Sansa had obviously noticed the change in Margaery's mood, and she should have known better than that. She needed to learn how to control her emotions better around this girl, and remind herself that she was still basically a stranger after all.

She was about to tell her not to worry about it, if she had not been distracted by what was playing out in front of her.

Loras has stopped the match, and had went off to the side to likely take off his armor. But he was stopped, no, distracted, by what she assumed was his new squire. Some blonde lanky boy no older than Loras surely. His hands went to her brothers armor, was deftly removing the lacings holding it in place, but his eyes weren't on the armor. Neither were Loras'.

They hadn't been here a bloody week and he's already trying to warm his bed.

Loras never was Olenna's favorite grandchild, not because of his preferences, but for his complete and utter disregard for the wellbeing of their House, their home. While he was responsible in his duty, he was careless in his execution. There were already strange rumors going around about the Knight of Flowers and her own husband, Renly Baratheon. And here he was, once again, making eyes with his new squire like it was their goddamn wedding day, in front of everyone who might happen to be in the gardens no less. In front of Sansa.

She fumed, trying to shift her focus back to her conversation with Sansa, she didn't need the girl following her gaze. She would deal with Loras later, and try to shove the guilt deeper inside herself.

Sansa looked more unsure of herself now, at Margaery's sudden change in mood. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Margaery was going to initially brush it off, but she felt that Sansa deserved an explanation for the way she was acting, all while making a mental note of keeping her mask on when in the company of others.

"Oh, its nothing really," she said waving her hand dismissively. "when Joffrey and I were in the city, I got out of my carriage in Fleabottom. I...I wanted to meet the orphans there. I wanted to see the conditions they lived in, so that when I am Queen, something can be done. I know it's silly, and as you can imagine Cersei was less than pleased," she finished with a light blush.

She felt something warm encase her hand, and realized with silent glee that Sansa had taken it in her own. She tried to suppress the unwelcome emotions that came with it.

"I think it's very admirable, that you want to help them," Sansa said seriously. "I just, don't understand…" she trailed off, letting go of Margaery's hand, retreating in on herself once again.

"What don't you understand?" Margaery breathed, suddenly wondering why their conversations always ended up so serious.

"How…how you can marry him, into this family" she said it so quietly Margaery wasn't sure if she even heard her.

Then, she smiled sadly back at her, "I don't expect you to, Sansa. I don't expect anyone to understand. It's just…the way it is. And it will all work out, its what's best for my House." She hated how true the words were, no matter how much she wished she were wrong.

"I fear for you," Sansa blurted, looking to her feet. "I lived through it. What happened to me, I don't want to see it happen to you."

"You needn't worry Sansa, they won't touch me. I'm far too valuable to the crown. Besides, my entire family is here, watching them-" she cringed inwardly at her words as soon as they left their mouth. And just as she suspected, Sansa noticed right away.

"My family was too," Sansa said bitterly. "Now look where they are."

They sat in silence for a moment, before Sansa took a deep breath and turned back to her. "I'm sorry Margaery, I'm not trying to question your ability to handle this, I'm really not…I just don't want him to hurt you," she whispered the last part, her eyes flashing dangerously.

Margaery reached up to Sansa's face, brushing a red strand behind her ear. She hid her shiver at the electricity with ease, though Sansa not so much. Margaery was kind enough to ignore it, though.

"I promise, I can handle it," it wasn't exactly a lie, she told herself. She had only just got here, after all.

"If you're sure…" Sansa said, but she looked as though she wanted to protest further.

Margaery sighed, taking the girls hand once again. "Sansa, I can't imagine what you've lived through," Sansa stiffened, but remained silent. "but I do understand your concerns. There's not much I can say to calm your nerves about the whole thing, just know that this is the way things have to be." She said quietly, knowing that her pathetic answer wouldn't be enough for Sansa, so she continued before she could respond. "Besides, let's look at the positives. Soon you'll be married to my good brother, sailing away to the beautiful Highgarden, and you can leave all of this behind, start anew. Your past won't define you any longer."

She expected Sansa to smile wistfully, or something like that, at that statement. But instead her eyes just begged the question 'what about you?'. Despite everything the girl had been through, her concern wasn't just lying with herself and her own situation. She still believed that she should worry about Margaery and what was to come in _her_ future, and it made the guilt that clawed at her chest ever more aggressive.

She squeezed Sansa's hand and gave her a reassuring smile. "Enough of that, let's try and enjoy the remainder of the afternoon, shall we?" It wasn't really a suggestion, and thankfully Sansa recognized that and dropped the subject.

Instead, she followed Sansa's gaze to her brother, who had thankfully finished making eyes with his squire by the time Sansa had looked over. The poor girl, innocent as she was, probably wouldn't have even noticed.

"He's such a splendid fighter," Sansa said in awe. He was, there was no denying that. He won many a tourney's in his young age, and brought great pride to Highgarden doing so. She loved her brother dearly, he was her best friend whom she felt she could say anything to, but right now she was not happy with him. He could at least have given Margaery a chance to let Sansa down easy about his lifestyle, if such a thing was possible.

"Do you have any idea when we might…" Sansa trailed off, but Margaery knew what she was going ask. She smiled brilliantly at the girl, trying to look as excited as she did.

"I'll plant a seed as soon as Joffrey and I are married. It should grow quickly," she assured. Sansa's face fell at the mention of the King, and Margaery arched a brow.

Sansa bit her lip, "Joffrey wont let me leave. He's got too many reasons to keep me here."

Margaery wasn't even sure how she was going to approach Joffrey with the idea. She was positive going into this that manipulating this man, any man, should be a task easily enough accomplished, but the more time spent with Joffrey the more she began to doubt herself, and she wasn't even married to the bastard yet.

"And only one to let you go," Margaery said. Sansa gave her a questioning look. "Because it would please me," Margaery finished, not quite lying but not being completely truthful either. But Sansa wouldn't know that.

Sansa rewarded her with a radiant smile, turning her attention to her wine glass for a moment. "Thank you, Margaery. For everything. No one has shown me such kindness in Kings Landing before."

The statement made Margaery's heart hurt, but she wore a smile all the same. "Of course, Sansa. Anything."

Sansa looked as though she were about to speak until something over Margaery's shoulder caught her attention. She turned to see Meryn Trant towering over them, a dangerous smile darkening his features.

"His Grace has summoned you to his chambers," he said roughly, the frightening smile never leaving his face as his eyes flitted to Sansa, who looked absolutely petrified.

"Thank you, Ser Meryn. Tell His Grace I shall be there short-"

"His Grace requests your audience now," he said a little tighter, running a pointed tongue across his cracked lips.

Margaery gave Sansa a reassuring smile and stood, "Perhaps we can have tea tomorrow, Lady Sansa. Until then," she gave her a small curtsey and followed Joffrey's guard. She knew better than to excuse formalities in front of someone like Meryn Trant. No doubt he would run and tell Joffrey about their close relationship, which could only result in a bigger target on Sansa's back.

She tried to ignore the frightened look on her face as she left.

She walked briskly to Joffrey's chambers, suppressing her growing nausea with each step. She wasn't sure what he could possibly want to see her about so suddenly that could not wait, but by the look on Meryn's face it couldn't be anything to look forward to. She kept her head high and walked with a purpose, a few steps ahead of the guard. She wouldn't show any weakness, because Joffrey devoured the weak, and she still had to make herself Queen, and remind Ser Meryn Trant who his Queen was to be.

They stopped outside of the doors to Joffrey's private chambers, and Margaery tried to slow her heart and maintain a confident appearance as Meryn Trant knocked on the door loudly.

"Lady Tyrell, my King," he promptly announced.

"Send her in," came Joffrey's reply, and he didn't sound too irritated to Margaery, but she knew well enough not to take that as a necessarily good sign. Joffrey was unhinged, and gained joy watching the suffering of others, therefore Joffrey could be in a rage and be laughing all the same, depending on whether or not he got the outcome he desired.

Her fears were not dispelled when she entered and saw him with the crossbow.

She swallowed and didn't dare stumble as she approached him slowly, gracefully. He continued to sit in his large, gold accented chair, staring her down as he cradled the crossbow in one arm. His face was unreadable, which was unnerving to say the least.

She smiled at him lovingly, trying to give him the Tyrell charm, "You wanted to see me, Your Grace?"

He was quiet a moment, then, "I'm leaving for a hunting trip." he replied, giving her a small smile in return. She breathed an inward sigh of relief; from what she had heard, Joffrey frequented on hunting trips, which would give her time away from him. She hoped it was a hobby he did not tire of anytime soon.

"I just wanted to make sure you had everything you need before I left," he continued, his arm still on the crossbow. Something in his voice told Margaery that wasn't the only reason he summoned her here.

"That's very thoughtful, Your Grace," she said thankfully, as she descended the steps to the center of his room, closer to him and the crossbow. "I have everything I could want." Except getting out of there as quickly as possible. Gods, how was she going to summon the courage to sleep with this man?

"Good," he pretended to pick at his fingernails. "How are you finding life in the Capitol? Must be quite a change after Renly's camp?

So there was the real reason he wanted to speak with her. He wanted to test where her loyalties lie, question her marriage and feelings with Renly, and possible berate her for following him, the False King, in the first place. It was part of his possessive, narcissistic personality, to paint himself in a better light than Renly, while reminding her of the lifestyle he provides her here in Kings Landing.

"A welcome one," she replied sweetly, playing his game. "A military encampment is no place for a lady." She crossed the room confidently, until she stood just in front of him, in his line of sight.

"And the bedside of a traitor?" he said quietly, his tone laced with malice. Margaery felt her smile falter; would he really hesitate to use that crossbow if this conversation went south? Is it really just for show, to intimidate her? "Is that a place for a lady?"

"Your Grace," she said hesitantly. She would have to speak carefully unless she wanted to leave with a bolt in her chest. "I tried to do my duty as a wife, that is all."

"And what was your…duty, to this traitor, as you saw it?"

"The duty of any wife, to any husband, to provide him with children." She tried to steer the conversation from a political standpoint.

"You failed to do this," he said, his eyes hard. "Why?"

He knows. She wasn't sure if it was possible, or if she was just being paranoid, but all she could picture was Cersei, Varys, and Littlefinger. Three of the most cunning and…talkative, people in Kings Landing. All three surely in Joffrey's ear, reporting anything and everything back to him. It wasn't so far fetched that they would know the truth of Renly, perhaps even her brothers involvement.

If he knows, which Margaery was almost sure that he did, there was no point in lying about it, especially with that crossbow so carefully aimed at her. She would have to make this about Renly and his desires, then shift the focus back to her and how she may have failed as a wife, anything to keep the conversation off of Loras.

"I…I would not speak ill of the dead, Your Grace," she said softly.

"You think one ought to speak kindly of a traitor merely because he's had a sword put through his heart?" he replied, clearly angered by her response.

Godsdamnit. Anything she says he will have a response to it, and she knew he was trying to back her into a corner. She felt her throat tighten if this will be the first time she would truly feel the wrath of her husband, and they weren't even married yet.

"No," she said, unable to hide the tremble in her voice. "I do beg your pardon, the subtleties of politics are often lost on me," there, perhaps if she played the role of the woman too clueless to understand what she did was wrong, he will get tired of it and let it go. It was a stretch, she knew.

And now to deflect back onto Renly, she could only hope he would forgive her if he should hear her words. "Renly…I don't believe he was interested in the company of women."

An intrigued look came over Joffrey's face, and she breathed an inward sigh of relief.

"What makes you say this?" he drawled, back to picking his nails.

"Whenever I…wanted to make a child with him he…he had so many excuses," she finally took the time to sit down next to him, now that she was a more convinced Joffrey wouldn't pull the trigger. "So many late night war councils, he never wanted to try, except…one evening."

Joffrey was definitely intrigued now; he looked at her expectantly, encouraging her to go on.

"After he'd had far too much wine to drink, he suggested something…something that sounded very painful, and couldn't possibly result in children." She did her best to look distressed about the fake memory. He was nodding sympathetically, and she knew she had convinced him successfully.

"Maybe the fault was with me, maybe-" she continued, until Joffrey grabbed her by the hand. It was as cold as ice, and uncomfortable against her skin. Thankfully, he let it go soon after.

"No," he said firmly. "He was a known…degenerate."

Margaery knew she made the right choice in telling him, rather than hide it. "Its such a relief to hear you say so, Your Grace," she said, patting his arm.

"Hm," he grunted, "I've considered making his perversion punishable by death."

Her stomach dropped. She wasn't expecting this, but then again how could she not? She was suddenly very afraid for her brother and his reckless ways. If Joffrey knew about Renly, it was very possible he knew about Loras, and this could be his warning to her. Especially with Loras likely already fucking his squire, if Joffrey caught wind of it, it could be the end of them all.

She couldn't be sure, and that made her all the more fearful.

"As is your right." Of course, she had to agree. "You must do whatever it is you need to do," she reached a hand out tentatively, and slowly caressed the gilding on his crossbow. "You are the King," she breathed, for that was what he wanted to hear. It was confirmed when he looked to her suddenly, his eyes hungry and full of lust as his gaze went briefly to her cleavage.

"Yes," he licked his lips. "I am," he watched her hand on his crossbow, before turning to her excitedly.

"Do you like it? I just had it made, probably one of the finest weapons in the Seven Kingdoms."

"Its beautiful," she lied. Sure, she could appreciate the craftsmanship, but it was difficult while Joffrey was holding it. "Will you show me how it works?" she asked, trying to play up on his interests.

He gave her a bit of a dubious look before his eyes lit up once more, almost seductively. He was excited that Margaery was interested in his toy.

"It's a new design; much easier to load, theres no crank. You use this lever," he said, grabbing the part beside him and mounting it to the crossbow, "to draw the string." He pulled the lever back, drawing the string with it. She handed him a bolt, a sweet smile upon her face as she did it.

He took it gratefully, the bolt goes here, then you just…aim." he stood with the loaded crossbow, aiming at the bears head on the wall. He pulled the trigger suddenly and the bolt whistled through the air before striking the bear straight through the eye.

Margaery let out joyous laughter as she clapped her hands, "would you take me hunting sometime?" She hoped he would say no. "Forgive me, your Grace, I know a hunt is no place for a woman-"

"Its not unheard of," he interrupted.

"My father never let me before-"

"You no longer belong to him," Joffrey said possessively. She wasn't sure if he meant it endearingly or not. "Do you want to hold it?" he asked, holding the crossbow to her.

"May I please?" she asked sweetly, as though it was her dream come true.

He placed it in her arms before walking around her, pressing his body up to hers as he supported her elbows in his cold hands. She could feel his breath on her neck, like an animal, and she cringed inwardly. She tried not to think about how she would feel his breath on her from their wedding night on, along with his hands and anything else he liked.

"It must be so exciting, to squeeze your finger here, and watch something die over there."

Joffrey took his gaze off of the aim of the crossbow, instead looking at her as though seeing her for the first time. Joffrey never looked at her like she were beautiful until now, and he looked insatiable.

"Could you do it," he whispered, desperately wanting her to say yes. "Could you…kill something?"

"I don't know Your Grace, do you think I could?"

"Yes," he breathed, clearly turned on.

"Would you like to watch me?" she asked seductively, getting him where she wanted. She had found what makes Joffrey tick, what it takes to control him. Every man has his temptation, and while Joffrey's was disturbing, it was something she could pull off.

Unless, he asked her to kill a person.

A horrible image of Sansa at the end of the crossbow flashed in her mind, but she closed her eyes and pushed it away, far away from where Joffrey could see.

He licked his lips, watching them together in the mirror across the room, his breath hot on her ear.

"Yes."

* * *

She wasn't sure if she had breathed until she had gotten back to her chambers. She smiled to the guards, smiled to her ladies as she bid them goodnight, then allowed herself to sink into the comforting chair by her table, where a welcoming decanter of wine sat.

Her breath came in shallow bursts as she shakily grabbed for a glass, pouring the wine and not caring that she spilled. She emptied the glass in one gulp, before filling it again. Tear pricked at her eyes but she forced herself to not let them fall, as she kept breathing in and out trying to focus on that instead.

Joffrey very much threatened her for most of that conversation. That much she knew, or he wouldn't have had the crossbow in the first place.

What might have happened had she not talked her way out of this? She finished the rest of her glass and poured again, wondering bitterly if it was Joffrey that made them all alcoholics. She didn't want to think about how she may have nearly escaped death today.

She thought of going to her grandmother, before quickly putting that idea out of her mind. Her grandmother would be furious if she came crying to her, after everything she did to get her here. Well, that was more her father, but her grandmother conditioned her for this. She would be disappointed if she knew Margaery couldn't handle a little scolding from her husband after assuring her she was ready for this.

She wanted to talk to Sansa, the thought bittersweet. She knew she couldn't go to the girl about this, even if she didn't seem judgmental. After Sansa warned her of what she already knew, she would feel foolish if she went to the girl in the state she was in now.

Besides, it would only worry Sansa more. No matter how tempting Sansa's embrace might be.

She stumbled to bed, the wine making her lightheaded and tired. This was good, this was what she wanted. To be just like Cersei, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, drinking herself into a miserable stupor every night.

This time, she let the tears fall.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Sansa** _

Sansa hadn't seen Margaery since she was escorted from the gardens the day prior. She tried to suppress the panic in her chest and tell herself there was no way Joffrey would do something to her before they were even married, and with her whole family here. She told herself that, as though if she said the words enough they would be true. She would find her later, and feel silly about the whole thing.

Besides, she was on her way to see Ser Loras, and if he hadn't cancelled their meeting Margaery was surely fine. She was overreacting, it's not as though she was able to see the woman every second of every day.

Even if it would make her feel better.

She was not meeting him for some time, and opted to walk to the gardens. It seemed to be her favorite place as of late, it was the only place that had other colors other than blood red. She stopped atop one of the landings along the way, watching the ships at sea with envy once more.

"She may not be the grandest of ships-" she turned, startled slightly, though she knew who was behind her. Lord Baelish strode down the stairs to the landing, smiling at her. "Or the fastest. But she's mine," he sat down beside her. "I've always wanted a ship. Now I have a dozen. Strange, isnt it?"

The only thing strange was the conversation, for Lord Baelish had an odd look on his face, one Sansa couldn't decipher. "What is?" she questioned.

"It doesn't matter what we want. Once we get it, then we want something else."

She wasn't sure, but she had a feeling he was talking about her. Baelish made no secret of his desire towards her, and she suddenly felt uncomfortable under his gaze.

"Your hair is different," he said suddenly, and her hand went self consciously to her hair. It was true, Margaery had shown her how most girls braided it in Highgarden, and she took a liking to it.

"Is it?" she replied nonchalantly.

"Lady Margaery wears it that way." He sounded almost wounded by it, and she began to suspect he might have caught wind of Margaery's plan to have her marry Loras. This worried her, because Baelish was a spy, and she wasn't always sure where his loyalties lie.

"Many ladies wear it this way."

He ignored her, "I have good news," he said instead. "I'll be leaving the city soon. You still want to come with me?"

She had to answer him in a way that would not give insight into her real plan. If Baelish found out that the Tyrells wanted her to marry Loras, there was no doubt in her mind he would try to put a stop to it. He wanted her to need him, and in a way she still did. If plans fell through with her marriage to Loras, it might be good to have a backup plan with Baelish. At least it would still be a way out if Kings Landing.

But the wedding was still three weeks away, would Baelish be able to remain in Kings Landing long enough for Sansa to see things through with the Tyrells? She wasn't sure, but she had to try.

"You still want me to come with you?"

"Its not a question of what I want, it's what you want."

She almost laughed, because she knew that couldn't be the case.

"You want to go home, don't you?" he said slowly.

"Of course, more than anything," she said quickly. "But maybe it would be better to wait…"

He eyed her, and she knew she would have to charm her way out of this. If she can just convince him to stay a little longer, by pleading with the man and making him feel validated, she might have a shot at marrying into the Tyrell House and escaping off to Highgarden. At least there she was sure Loras would allow her to visit Winterfell. With Baelish, she still wasn't sure if his intentions.

"I've been thinking about how dangerous it would be," she continued, "not just for me but for you. You've been so kind, I'd feel terrible if anything happened to you." She knew she was a terrible liar, but she thought she did pretty good there. He had been kind to her, yes, but she wouldn't feel too terrible if something should happen to him.

He studied her a moment, as though trying to find the lie in her words. "I cant tell you how touched I am by your concern for my welfare. I hope you know I'm your friend, Sansa. A true friend."

It was her turn to study him and search for his deception. She was such a naïve fool she probably wouldn't even see it, laughing her in the face. What choice did she even have at this point?

"I do, Lord Baelish."

"Petyr," he whispered.

She did not want to call him Petyr. By doing so, it made their relationship seem more personal than it was. She needed his help, sure, but that by no means meant she wanted to get close to him. She wanted to keep things professional, and she was starting to feel indebted to Petyr Baelish. Once again, she was left without a choice.

"Petyr," she practically choked out.

"If you wish to stay, then of course you will stay." He bent forward and took her hand, pressing his lips to the back of it, and it took everything in her not to yank her hand away. He smiled warmly at her, still holding on tightly.

"We'll speak again, when I return." And with that he was off, rather quicker than usual.

Baelish was acting strange, there was no doubt in Sansa's mind he was suspicious of her. He had been eyeing her strangely since he had arrived, and his comment about her hair left her feeling uneasy. She wouldn't be surprised if he had caught on to her possible betrothal to Loras.

Sansa was aware of the importance in keeping her options open at this point. Margaery might say pretty words, but she had yet to prove she could deliver, and if an escape from Kings Landing was something she could not provide, Sansa would unfortunately have to rely on Baelish whether she wanted to or not.

She tried not to let unknown events fill her with anxiety, but sometimes she wonders how her father felt in his last days. Did he too, feel paranoid of everyone around him? Did he know what was coming? How many conversation did he over analyze in his head at night, just as she did, picking apart every word to try and uncover some grain of suspected malicious intent?

Perhaps Sansa was now feeling as her father had, backed into a corner without a leg to stand on.

She would have to focus her ambitions towards Margaery's offer, for now. If it was going to work she would surely need to put some of the work in herself, which meant getting closer to Loras. Yet Sansa got the feeling that Loras was more than disinterested, and she couldn't rightfully blame him, she was the traitors daughter after all.

She swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat, it was terribly maddening that everyone looked at her as though she had the plague, that there was no kind knight out there that would want to be tied to the Stark name without being forced to. If that wasn't a reason for Loras to be cold towards her, she wasn't sure what was.

She supposed love was meant to stay in story books, where it belonged.

Margaery alone seemed to be the only one who showed her any interest, even if it was born out of ulterior motives.

She squinted, looking at the Sun which was now high in the sky. She was due to meet Loras in the gardens shortly, though she still took her time, each step deliberately slow. She had a sneaking suspicion he would be late to arrive, anyway.

She wished she were going for a simple stroll with Margaery instead, the other girl was far easier to converse with than her brother. Margaery encouraged her to be herself, while Loras just seemed…

Repulsed.

She sighed, debating on whether or not she should bring up her concerns with Margaery. She knew that the entire plot was likely Lady Olenna's doing, and regardless of her protests or not, Olenna would get her way, and she wanted the North. It was something she probably already scolded Loras about, telling him to suck up his disappointment and marry the traitors daughter.

She supposed it didn't matter if Loras cared for her or not, he was her escape from the Capitol at the very least, if nothing else but a lackluster prospect of a husband.

She continued to the garden, trying to banish the thoughts of sham marriages and chestnut curls from her mind. She sat at the fountain where they were to meet, unsurprised that she was correct to assume his tardiness.

She watched the water lilies sway on the surface of the pond, gathering algae and clumping together in certain parts. Looking closely she realized just how filthy the fountain really was, dressed pretty with some cheap flowers, and the irony was not lost on her that it was telling of the rest of Kings Landing.

A disgusting cesspool filled with fancy coats.

"Lady Sansa," a soft voice rang through her thoughts, pulling her gaze from the murky water.

"Ser Loras," she replied politely, standing to dip into a curtsey. "It's a pleasure to see you."

"I'm afraid I must apologize for being late," he said, as they sat down together. "I had some business to take care of."

The fact that he was being so vague only solidified her thoughts on the matter. He most likely was not held up in business of any sort, as it was far more believable that he simply forgot. Sansa almost felt jealousy at how he could skirt his responsibilities with such ease, without fear of reprimand of any kind.

Sansa Stark could not afford such luxuries.

At least if her head ends up mounted next to her father's, she will die with the Stark dignity, unlike he did.

She straightened, forcing herself to make eye contact with the man, "That's quite alright, I wasn't waiting long."

They fell into what could only be described as an uncomfortable silence, and Sansa once again found herself noticing the glaring differences between Loras and his sister. Where she would smile at Sansa, make eye contact with her, and show what one could at least perceive as genuine interest. She was far warmer, more so than anyone she had encountered in Kings Landing thus far, a warmth Sansa was hoping to find in Loras. He was kind, but he was distant and standoffish, at least when he was with Sansa. Loras didn't even make a single effort to even feign interest, despite the betrothal hanging over their heads.

She cleared her throat, "that's a wonderful pin," she said, in a pathetic attempt to make conversation. She gestured to the golden rose pinned to his chest.

He followed her gaze, as though just realizing it were there, "Oh, well, it's more of a brooch, really."

Gods, the man was _infuriating_.

He tilted his head to the side, looking thoughtful, "though I suppose a broach is a sort of pin, so…"

It was getting painfully awkward, which should have been an indication to stop, but she couldn't. She kept saying things that opened doors for awkward silences, as though she thought that if he tried hard enough, she might get something of substance out of the man.

After another uncomfortable silence she turned to him again, "I'm…very happy, about…" she started, tentatively, hoping he would have enough awareness to catch on himself.

"Uh, yes, I am as well," he replied, nodding his head a little too enthusiastically.

"I feel like I'm in a dream," she said, trying desperately to win him over. More like a nightmare.

"Yes, me too, definitely. I've dreamed of a large wedding since I was quite young," he said, showing more life than since he had arrived. "The food, the guests, the tournaments," he trailed off, looking away dreamily as though he were imagining a jousting match. Sansa sat plainly beside him, feeling very much like a last option.

"-Oh, and the bride, of course," he added quickly, in an attempt to save himself. "The most beautiful bride in the world."

Sansa couldn't help but smile at the compliment, and she thought perhaps she had Loras wrong. Maybe he just expressed himself differently, not quite as affectionate as his sister might be. Maybe Sansa could win him over yet, despite his cluelessness. Whatever the case, she truly hoped she was wrong about him being repulsed by her.

"In a beautiful gown of gold and green brocade with fringed sleeves," he continued. "Have you ever been to Highgarden, my lady?"

"No, I never left Winterfell before I came to Kings Landing," she responded, trying to hold back the biting remark that so far, she had a less than pleasing experience since leaving her snowy home, "but it sounds wonderful, I can't wait to see it…"

She couldn't wait to get out of Kings Landing more.

"…and, to leave this place."

He wore a look of sympathy at her last words. "its terrible, isnt it? The most terrible place there is."

She smiled again, appreciating that someone else felt the same as her. Here was Margaery, willingly marrying into this House, to remain in this horrible place for the rest of her life with the most hateful man in all of Westeros, and Sansa couldn't imagine how being Queen could make any of that worthwhile. Perhaps Loras didn't think so either, and he too, was disturbed at the thought of his little sister remaining with the lions.

A sudden image of her leaving for Highgarden flashed in her mind, with Margaery standing at the docks with a perfect smile on her face as she waved them off. A smile reserved for the public, to mask how truly miserable her life was married to that monster. Her grandmother would be leaving too, and she would be a lone rose left to wither in the hot sun of the Capitol. The thought made Sansa's heart ache, and she pushed it forcefully from her mind. The wedding was still weeks away, but it was happening whether she liked it or not. This was Margaery's choice, after all.

Loras had stood, holding his hand out to Sansa, offering at though offering her new life, a sign that she should leave these thoughts behind, and focus on moving forward. She took it, and allowed him to lead her through the gardens, as he talked away of life in Highgarden, of the music and the art, the delicious colorful foods and scents of the orchards. It painted a wonderfully positive image for Sansa, powerful enough to keep her dark thoughts at bay.

Even if it was just for now.

* * *

Dinner was always an affair she dreaded, mainly because she was surrounded by so many people that had a hand in the execution of her father, but also because Joffrey was now in close vicinity, and he had taken advantage of that more times than Sansa could count. He would use this time to humiliate Sansa in front of his lessers, eliciting laughs and jeers from those who wouldn't dare side her over the King, which was everyone.

However, he hadn't seemed to even notice she was there on this night. Margaery sat to his left, and he seemed rather enraptured by whatever it was she was whispering in his ear. Sansa felt that familiar pang of dread, for she knew that look in Joffrey's eyes, as he used to express it to her.

Before he ordered her father's head and had her beaten.

Sansa forced her eyes from the pair, the scene unfolding before her making her rather sick. She already lacked an appetite, which surely wouldn't go unnoticed forever when she would be bound to need new gowns and alterations.

In fact, it already caught someone's attention.

"Lady Sansa," Baelish greeted, as he sat beside her with a goblet of wine in hand. "You haven't touched your food all evening, are you unwell?" he said in a low voice, and before she could answer his hand was already snaking around her back, rubbing what he thought were soothing circles, oblivious at how the gesture made her want to crawl out of her own skin.

"I…"

Her gaze flicked back to Margaery, why, she wasn't sure, perhaps a nervous habit. But she was surprised to see the other woman already looking in their direction, and if Sansa didn't know any better, Margaery was staring daggers at Baelish.

She felt a slight flare of irritation. Margaery sat whispering sweet nothings into the ear of the most vile man imaginable, yet she had the audacity to stare at them as though they were doing something wrong. She couldn't imagine a reason for her to be looking at him in such a way, unless he had rubbed her the wrong way on an occasion Sansa didn't know about.

"I'm fine, my lord," she said slowly, looking back to Baelish, who had been looking at her expectantly. "I'm just a little tired, and I had a big lunch," she lied easily. "I think I will retire for the night."

He looked as though he wanted to question her, but to her relief he said nothing more on the matter. Instead, he raised his glass to her, giving her a small smile, "Then I bid you a goodnight, my lady."

She couldn't have gotten out of there fast enough. His hand never wavered from the small of her back until she pulled away, standing to race out of the room. When she exited the dining hall she let out a sigh of relief, pressing the back of her hand to her head. Truly, she didn't feel well, but the more distance she put between the hall and herself eased her nausea.

She had barely made it around the corner before she was stopped yet again, but this time, she minded much less.

"Lady Sansa," Margaery said gently behind her, and Sansa turned to see her beaming and coming towards her, her guards not far behind. Sansa found it strange that Margaery had left dinner immediately after her, wondering what excuse she gave to Joffrey and the rest of the table, but she didn't bother to ask.

"Lady Margaery," she smiled back, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I was hoping you'd have a drink with me before we retire for the night," she said, glancing in the direction of her chambers, "I have an excellent bottle of Dornish red, if you're not too tired, that is."

Sansa actually felt a little relieved; perhaps spending some time with Margaery might end the day on a better note than what she thought it would.

When they arrived at Margaery's chambers Sansa was almost taken aback by how red the room was again, though she did her best to ignore it and focus on Margaery. She had told the guards to take their leave and bid her handmaiden farewell, and then it was just the two of them.

Sansa wasn't sure if she found Margaery's presence as comforting as she had before, now they were alone well into the evening. She got the same nervous feeling from her grandmother sometimes, too.

Margaery seemed to sense her discomfort, as she laughed warmly and waved her hand in her direction.

"Relax, Sansa, its just you and I here," she insisted, as she sat at her table and began to pour the wine, "please, sit, and help me forget about this bloody wedding for awhile."

Though she didn't show it, Margaery sounded exhausted. She was probably drowning in marriage preparations, dealing with Joffrey, her aid with the small folk, and she wasn't even crowned Queen yet. Sansa suddenly thought of Cersei, how bitter and cruel she had become. She couldn't help but think if she would visit Kings Landing with her husband some day to find Margaery had succumbed to the same fate, a glass of wine constantly gripped in her hand, her jaw set in a permanent scowl.

It made Sansa queasy all over again.

"What would you like to know?" she asked as she sat down across from her, accepting the goblet of wine with a grateful smile, doing her best not to let her previous thought make itself known on her face.

Margaery hummed for a moment, then asked, "What did you do today?"

Sansa took a sip of the wine. It was marvelous, just as Margaery said. Sansa didn't indulge in drinking too much once Cersei had made it look so off-putting, besides, it was best to keep a clear head around her enemies. But was Margaery her enemy? She didn't think so, in fact, she quite enjoyed these nightly conversations over a glass with the Tyrell. She could afford herself this luxury, surely.

"I had an outing with Loras," she began, albeit a bit shy. She suppressed the urge to voice her concerns about her brothers true interests with ease; she didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth. And Margaery was looking so pleased about their getting to know each other, she found she didn't have the heart to disappoint her. Besides, Loras had seemed a little warmer towards her once they had settled into conversation more, she might not even have any cause of concern. Margaery had enough on her plate without Sansa falling into her bad habit of steering the conversation into a darker theme.

"Oh," Margaery said, a playful smirk dancing on her lips, and Sansa couldn't help but be drawn to them for a second, "Pray tell, what you two got up to?"

Sansa couldn't help but smile back, glancing away as a small blush warmed face, "We chatted at the fountain, walked through the gardens. It was very nice." She embellished.

Margaery kept her eyes on her for a moment, her joyful expression softening for a moment. Sansa felt a strange buzz under her gaze, a quickly took a large sip of wine in an effort to alleviate the feeling.

"I hope my dear brother is good to you," she said, her tone more serious than before, her gaze a little more determined. Sansa briefly wondered if Margaery suspected her brothers hot and cold tendencies with her, or if she was simply kind, hoping that Sansa was happy.

"He is good to me," she said, not exactly lying. There was nothing unkind about the man. There just wasn't that spark that she thought was supposed to come with courting. No butterflies, no longing, as though all the songs the bard's sang and all the stories she ever heard of knights and princesses were an ugly lie.

And this was the ugly truth.

Margaery accepted her answer nonetheless, her expression lightening up slightly as she poured more wine. "Good," she said satisfied, before her gaze suddenly turned apologetic, "I am sorry for how quickly we had to leave things last in the garden. I meant to find you sooner, but I've been dreadfully busy. I hope I didn't worry you."

"You didn't," Sansa did lie this time, and she was sure it showed on her face. It didn't help that she then asked, "what did he want from you that was so urgent?"

She could've kicked herself, and she did internally, recognizing how indecorously forward the question was, especially considering she had already broached this subject with Margaery once before, the girl already having told her to forget it. She waited for Margaery to be offended, maybe even have her removed from her chambers. Best case scenario she would put her in her place, but much to her bewilderment, she did none of those things.

Instead she gave an exasperating smile, rolling her eyes as she groaned, "it was not evening something that required my immediate attention. He got a new crossbow-"

Sansa still felt perturbed by this, the idea of being in the same room as Joffrey while wielding any sort of weaponry was more than troubling.

"-Relax Sansa," Margaery said, her words delicate, "he is planning another hunt, and he wished to let me know, and of course, I couldn't disapprove," the older girl winked knowingly.

Sansa felt reassured at her words. Despite what Sansa had went through with Joffrey, she didn't have a choice but to trust that Margaery knew what she was doing. Still, it was good to know that she would not be reprimanded for worrying for the girl. She pondered what that might mean.

"Didn't he ask you to join him?" she inquired again, hoping she didn't finally push her luck.

Margaery took another sip of wine, a smile still gracing her features, soothing Sansa's nerves once more, "No, I'm sure he believes that women have no place on a hunt, blessed as I am. Instead, he will be leaving me to deal with all of the wedding preparations myself I'm sure."

Sansa felt sorry for Margaery, yet at the same time she was relieved at any opportunity for the older girl to be away from Joffrey and his abuse. If his absence meant Margaery had to deal with more being added to her schedule, Sansa felt that it was a more than fair trade.

"I could…I could help, if it pleases you. I know it cant be easy dealing with everything by yourself," Sansa offered.

Margaery gave her a sympathetic smile, waving her hand as she sipped her wine, "that's quite all right Sansa, I wouldn't want to weigh you down with my problems. I know it must be difficult for you to understand why I'm doing this, after everything you've seen," she said quietly, her focus on her goblet.

Sansa sipped her wine, too, as though the more she drank the more it would aid her in explaining her feelings.

She set the goblet down, a little harder than she intended, though Margaery didn't notice, or at least pretended she didn't. Sansa forced her eyes to Margaery's and there she found no judgement. So she spoke, "it is not duty that I don't understand, Margaery, it is how we place duty above our own well-being."

Margaery looked at her curiously, "this is for my well being," she pointed out.

"Is it?" Sansa countered quietly, trying to not let her misery show on her face like some petulant child.

"Oh, sweet girl," Margaery whispered, the nickname spoken so softly warmed Sansa's chest. Margaery shifted, and Sansa hadn't noticed when she had gotten so close; rosewater filled her senses, as though she were back in the garden, she must be, for her body grew warm as though she were bathing in sunlight. She didn't look, couldn't, as though she were afraid of the softness she would surely find in the other girls eyes, matching the softness evident in her voice.

"You worry for me, still?" the older girl continued.

Sansa stilled, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, still refusing Margaery's eye contact. To most, she was probably coming across very rudely, Sansa just hoped Margaery could forgive her.

"I do," she said quietly, her eyes still on her tensed hands. "I-I worry for any woman in his presence," she added quickly.

Margaery said nothing, and what should have been silence was now filling Sansa's ears with a rushing white noise, as though there were an ocean in her head, save for the thudding pulse ringing with it also. Sansa had to look at her now, and what she saw made her heart quicken tenfold.

Margaery was leaning in, and Sansa stiffened, her eyes flying back to her cursed hands still gripping tightly to her dress, as Margaery pressed her soft lips to Sansa's cheek. The smell of roses filled her senses, and she loathed the small gasp that escaped her at the contact.

Sansa had only been kissed by Joffrey, save for the kisses Loras had pressed to her hand in politeness. But neither of them had lingered as Margaery did. Or perhaps she wasn't lingering at all, perhaps time was just standing still. If it was, Sansa didn't mind as much as she ought to, and that thought sent a small wave of panic up to her throat.

When she did withdraw, after what seemed like ages, all of her senses came flooding back. The white noise had vanished, replaced with the crackling of the fire as it used to be, and she found the air around her cold once more.

"You needn't fret over me Sansa," Margaery said softly. "I don't want my situation being another reason to keep you up at night. Do you trust me?"

Sansa had to think about how to answer such a question. Did she trust Margaery? She would like to, she must, on one level or another, considering how freely she spoke with the girl on most nights. She knew she couldn't exactly trust House Tyrell, but perhaps she could trust the Rose of Highgarden.

"Yes…" she said slowly, realizing how insincere she sounded.

Margaery gave her a lopsided smile, but said nothing of Sansa's hesitation. Instead, she resumed pouring more wine, her expression growing thoughtful.

"May I speak freely, Sansa?"

Sansa wasn't quite sure why she was asking; she was under the impression that the two of them already had the understanding that they could speak freely with one another, which made her gut twist nervously that she was asking now. She nodded, waiting with bated breath as though something unpleasant was about to happen.

"You and Lord Baelish…" Margaery started, looking almost uncomfortable, "…You seem close."

Sansa's worry spiked, she didn't want Margaery to have the wrong impression of hers and Baelish's relationship. If she suspected Sansa was… _involved_ , with the Lord, she could very well pull the betrothal to Loras off the table.

"He was close with my mother," Sansa said quickly, "He…He loved her." the words almost shamed her to say.

Margaery pursed her lips together as she swirled the contents of her goblet, "Does he love you?"

Now that question did throw her for a loop. She never thought about it, sure, she thought about how close he got to her, and she knew the look in his eyes was more than just friendly. He gave her an unsettling feeling when he looked at her that way, as though she felt dirty, and she certainly hoped it wasn't love that he felt for her too.

"I…I don't know. I don't want him to…" she hoped Margaery believed her.

Margaery was reaching for her, the white noise threatening to return to her head. Margaery took one of her clasped hands, and Sansa just realized with slight embarrassment just how tight she had been gripping them. Her gaze was dragged from their entwined hands up to Margaery's face, her gaze was searching and almost sad.

"I worry for you too, Sansa." She spoke simply, carefully.

Sansa's heart lurched madly, her other hand coming to clasp at her chest. Her face warmed and she felt a little silly, but Margaery's words meant a great deal to her. She hadn't believed anyone worried about her well being anymore, except for Baelish and his ulterior motives. She couldn't dispel the very real possibility that this was all coming from Margaery's own motives as well, but maybe just for right now, she could pretend.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you're all going to like this one! Drop a review, let me know what you think :)

_**Margaery** _

"My lady, please, slow down!"

But Margaery would not slow down. Her heels clicked through the cobbled streets of the city, her chestnut eyes blazing like the sun, commoners and merchants alike scattering out of her way, the sight of the Tyrell girl looking so distraught was uncommon and frightening to say the least.

Her handmaiden Elinor was rushing to catch up with her, lest she get lost in the large crowds of the city, but today Margaery was on a mission, one she was furious to find herself having to accomplish in the first place.

"I'm going to have his fucking head I swear-" she cursed under her breath, ignoring Elinor's desperate pleas behind her. Her grandmother had sent to find him, after finding out he stood up another outing with Sansa to likely go carousing at that Gods be damned brothel. There was a reason Loras was left out of most of their political plans and conversations, as he was a massive liability due to his careless nature and his inability to keep his emotions in check as she did.

She arrived at Lord Baelish's brothel; the sight of the place was nearly enough to make her gag, though it did not deter her from what she came here to do. Stepping inside she was greeted by the sight that anyone would at any brothel; breasts, broken women, predatory men and acrid smoke. She waved a hand in her face as though it would clear the air around her, to no avail.

She approached one of the women there, who had been dangling haphazardly in a large gentleman's lap, the man was sweating and his large gut heaved as he barked out a laugh, groping the poor woman with his pudgy hands all over, raking obsessively over her young body. She felt almost sorry for the woman, even if she had chosen such a profession.

The woman noticed Margaery approaching, and she jumped from the man's lap quickly as she dipped into a curtsey, despite her naked form.

"My lady-"

"Where is he?" Margaery hissed, in no mood for small talk and pleasantries. The woman visibly gulped, looking over her shoulder to ensure her customer wasn't paying attention, but he was much too involved with his current frothing mug of mead.

"He…"

"Out with it girl. Now."

She girl's eyes widened, and she cleared her throat and tried again, "He's upstairs in the first door."

"I appreciate your honesty," Margaery replied evenly, and she turned on her heel just as Elinor had caught up with her. She too, looked bothered by the smoky atmosphere, as she regarded Margaery through squinted eyes.

"My lady, maybe we should-" Elinor started breathlessly, but Margaery held up a hand effectively silencing her.

"Come," she said firmly, and Elinor scrambled to follow her upstairs.

"My lady, don't you think it unwise to come here without a guard-"

"And you think my decision unwise, Lady Elinor?" Margaery said sharply, turning to her once they reached the first oak door. She adored Elinor, but she had little patience for her meddling at this time.

"No, my lady," she said, dipping into a polite curtsey.

Margaery eyed her for a moment, before turning to the door.

"Wait here."

She didn't bother to knock, opting instead to push the heavy oak open suddenly, and her fury intensified upon realizing her foolish brother didn't even think to lock the damn door.

She found exactly what she had been looking for, in the compromising position she expected as well. The pair of bodies wrapped in the silk sheets jumped at the sound of the door opening, jumping apart as though they had been burned. Loras had the nerve to glare at her, which only fueled her anger.

"You're late to see Sansa." She said angrily, ignoring the frightened other man that Loras had been bedding.

"You're very respectful," Loras said sarcastically.

"I'm very angry," she shot back. Nonetheless she sighed, walking to where they had some wines and cheeses spread on the table, before grabbing a piece and taking a small bite, eyeing the two men as she sat on the bed, as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

"What's your name?" she said to the young man with the mousy blonde hair that was clinging to her brother like a life line.

"Olyvar, my lady," he said respectfully, looking a little less nervous than he had when she initially burst through the door as unceremoniously as she did.

"My brother is keeping someone of very high importance waiting, Olyvar," she said, not trying to hide the venom in her voice, causing the man to cringe slightly into himself.

Olyvar swallowed audibly, before leaning over to Loras and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. Margaery watched him, annoyance flaring that he dared keep them any longer. "my lady," he addressed, as he gathered his robes without another word and left, closing the door behind him.

"Perhaps you might consider being a bit more discreet?" Margaery pleaded with her brother, who was still rolling his eyes from the pillows.

"Why? They all know about me anyway," he said, crossing his arms behind his head. "Everybody knows everything about everyone. What's the point in trying to keep a secret in a place like this?"

Margaery shook her head in disbelief, standing to grab his clothes from the end of the bed, "in any event, you shouldn't keep your intended waiting." She threw the clothes at him as he chuckled, striking her nerves.

"My intended? Please," he scoffed, but began to dress anyway.

Margaery felt a stab in her heart at the way her brother so easily disregarded Sansa. The girl deserved better than this, better than him, and damnit, Loras was lucky that he was betrothed to Sansa rather than some other bitter, heartless woman. He had his duty as well, it couldn't all be left up to Margaery.

"Loras, please," she sighed, her tone softening, causing Loras to look at her in confusion. "The poor girls been through so much, I know this isn't ideal for you my dear brother, but don't you think you could at least make an effort to make her happy? Of course she will find out about you one way or another, but you could try to lessen the blow?"

He shook his head as he buttoned his shirt, his expression incredulous, his emotions on full display as was normal for the man. Margaery knew he was going to protest, and she closed her eyes feeling an aggravating headache beginning to pound at her temples.

"I didn't ask for this Margaery," he whined, making his way to the door.

"I know, Loras, I know…" she trailed behind him, placing her hand on the handle to stop him, wanting him to hear her, "but she needs this," she was pleading with him now.

He gaze her a queer look, "if you care about her so much, maybe you can marry her," he said impatiently.

This was not what she had wanted Loras to say, as it was something she struggled to find an answer for. She was usually quick witted, intelligent and calculated responses fell from her lips as naturally as breathing. One had to be able to conjure words to work to their advantage while simultaneously guarding ones self, but this just put an idea in her head on how nice it would be to be married off to someone like Sansa as opposed to someone like Joffrey, and she was far too mature to be thinking of false possibilities when it would never be her duty to marry another woman of any kind, ever. Women didn't become Queens if they couldn't produce heirs. She would be lynched if she ever tried. At most, she would have to settle for a hidden bedmate, bound to secrecy, surviving only off stolen kisses and rushed touches too far and few between to ever be fulfilling.

Margaery pinched her nose, turning away from him and biting back a groan. "Loras-"

"I'm sorry," he said, his tone truly apologetic. She turned back to him and he was there, wrapping his arms around her in a warm embrace. She felt her anger ebb away; she never could stay mad at Loras for very long. He pulled back, his lips pulling into a sad smile, "I've just felt terribly unhappy about the whole situation. Perhaps…perhaps you should talk to her?"

Gods, she did not want to hear that either. The idea of breaking Sansa's heart saddened her, and was probably the last conversation she wanted to have with the Stark girl. At the same time, it wasn't as though she hadn't already considered broaching the topic with her. She felt wrong, hiding something like this from her, and it was surely better to hear it now, from Margaery, than to be blindsided later in Highgarden, perhaps even before. Imagining the look on her face if she ever walked in on Loras, careless as he was, in the throes of passion with another man, was worse than how she might look when Margaery tells her.

She sighed, running a hand over her braid. "Okay…okay, I will find a way to speak of it to her."

He embraced her again, burying his head in her shoulder, "thank you, dear sister, and…I'm sorry, for the way that I am." His voice was thick with emotion.

Her heart broke for her loving brother, she had never wanted him to hate himself or feel that he had to change for her. Despite his shortcomings, and everyone had them, he had a heart of pure gold, and she would do everything in her power to protect him.

"Do not apologize for that, Loras," she insisted, as she held him tighter to her in fear that he would shrink away, "I will take care of this. Everything will be alright."

* * *

She noted Sansa's absence in the dining hall later that evening. In spite of that, she had found the girls handmaiden when she had returned from the city earlier in the day and requested Sansa in her chambers after dinner, and Shae had assured her she would be there.

Sansa not being present at dinner wasn't a shock to her, however. She had asked the handmaiden how Sansa had seemed to her this afternoon, after being stood up by her fool of a brother. Shae might have found it a little strange that the future Queen was asking after her lady, but she said nothing of it. She said she hadn't seen Sansa much of the day, that she had went to pray and had asked to be left alone. That was all Margaery needed to know to assume that Sansa was upset, and she regretted that she would have to cause her more pain.

It was almost an excuse to eat as slowly as possible.

She hoped Sansa had eaten something, that Shae had fetched her something from the kitchen's to bring to her room at the very least. The girl was terribly thin, and Margaery thought that may have just been her body type. Now she was beginning to fear it was abnormal.

It was no wonder the girl didn't have an appetite, after the hell she had come back from.

She sighed, picking at her roast absentmindedly, not realizing that Joffrey had been watching her carefully.

"Something wrong, my lady?" he inquired in a low voice, though it was not unkind. She looked to him, giving him a warm, loving smile, gazing at him with feigned admiration, "Oh, it's nothing my King, I am simply thinking about how I will so miss your touch while you are off on the hunt." She leaned in closer, now that she had his attention, "Perhaps we can make some time to see one another in the morning before you go?"

He smiled devilishly, making her skin crawl, but she kept the hopeful smile plastered on her face. He grabbed her hand, it was uncomfortably cold, his grip too harsh, and be brought it to his dry lips.

"Of course my lady, fret not, I will be back in plenty of time for our wedding day. We can…practice, for the real thing, to ensure you're not a complete lame come the bedding ceremony. Perhaps I'll even let you keep your maidenhood until the true night." His voice, though still not unkind, was still cold yet filled with Joffrey's strange tone of love and affection. She found him easier to control lately, as long as she let him indulge in his daily abuses towards his lessers. As long as one of those lessers wasn't Sansa.

Surprisingly, he hadn't made any attempts towards the Stark girl lately, unless Margaery just wasn't aware of it. She would hope Sansa would confide in her if such a thing ever happened, now she wasn't so sure she would. She felt her stomach turn at Joffrey's words, needing no reminder that she had to eventually bed this man. Still, she smiled flirtatiously back at him, hoping the morrow wouldn't come so soon.

She finished her plate, Joffrey's conversation filling her with a newfound vigor, before she bid him and his family goodnight. She approached her grandmother, who had been seated a few away.

"Are you off?" she asked gruffly, regarding her but a moment before returning to her wine.

"I am, shall I find you tomorrow once I see the King off?"

"Of course, we will have tea. Theres much to be discussed about our upcoming situation, and I'd rather not leave anything to chance," she said in a low voice, glancing around to ensure no one was eavesdropping. "And I thank you for fetching your idiot brother. I do hope he didn't put up too much of a fuss."

"Grandmother," Margaery scolded her gently, "Loras cannot be anyone but himself."

"Bullshit. We have all become someone else over the course of time to suit our needs. I suggest he starts doing the same, if he wants to save himself a great deal of disappointment."

Her words cut through the air harshly, with a note of finality in them. It didn't make it hurt any less knowing that her grandmother was right.

She smiled sadly, "goodnight, grandmother."

"Goodnight."

Leaving the dining hall to step into the cool, dim hall was like coming up for air after being sucked into deep waters. Until she remembered her next burdensome task that her family once again blessed upon her. She sighed deeply as she reached her chambers where Elinor greeted her, concern etched on her face.

"Something the matter, my lady?" she asked hurriedly as she poured Margaery a glass of wine. She took it gratefully, taking a long sip and allowing the wine to warm her belly and steady her nerves.

"Thank you. It's nothing, I just…I have a less than pleasant conversation to have with Sansa. I do not wish for her to hate me," she was surprised at how deeply affected she sounded when she spoke the words aloud. Even more surprised at how deeply it felt.

Elinor hummed as she set down the decanter, returning to Margaery's side and began to fix her hair. "Sansa sees you as a dear friend, my lady, perhaps her only. Whatever it is, surely she will have the heart to forgive you."

Margaery tried to take Elinor's words to heart, but they felt sour on her own tongue, not finding comfort in the least. Maybe she was right, but in a much more realistic sense, she probably wasn't. Sansa was sure to feel betrayed, especially by someone who assured her they had the best intentions.

"Seven hells…" Margaery groaned as she downed the wine, handing the empty glass back to her handmaiden and gestured towards the decanter, "I hope you're right."

She accepted the next glass and sat herself at the table, her fingers thrumming restlessly on the wood, and she looked to Elinor who seemed unsure of what to do next.

"I'm sorry Elinor," she said, giving her an apologetic look, "You may go."

"My lady…if I may, just tell Sansa the truth. You are a wonderful person, and she knows that. You will see. I am here if you ever want someone to talk to."

Margaery smiled, thankful she was so close with the girl, someone she could count on whenever she was doubting herself, "Thank you Elinor, I-"

There was a sharp knock at the door, capturing both the girls attention.

"Lady Sansa to see you, my lady!" called the guard standing outside.

Elinor sent Margaery a reassuring glance, to which she nodded, steeling herself for what was coming. Elinor gave her a small nod in return, and pulled open the door to reveal Sansa Stark.

She wore a modest green silk dress, her hair tied back in a sleek braid, and Margaery's heart clenched at the idea that Sansa might have looked so beautiful for Loras. She was smiling politely, however, and she wasn't sure if that was good or bad. Good, because she perhaps wasn't as affected by his absence as she thought. Bad, because even if she wasn't, she was surely about to be.

"Lady Sansa," Elinor smiled, dipping into a curtsey. She gave a final look at Margaery before she slipped out of the chambers, leaving Sansa and Margaery alone. Margaery tried to still her beating heart, control her thrumming digits, instead she forced a smile as she gestured for Sansa to sit.

"Sansa! How wonderful to see you," she beamed at the other girl, "Wine?"

"Please," Sansa said softly, her smile was grateful, "Gods know I could use it today."

Margaery was slightly taken aback that Sansa had brought it up so willingly, though she didn't let her face betray her. She poured the wine and pushed the goblet towards Sansa. "I hear Loras failed to meet you when he should have. And failed to address you regarding it."

Sansa took a rather large sip of the wine, her eyes refusing to meet Margaery's. She smiled weakly, though her shoulders sagged as she did so, "It's fine, really, I understand how busy your brother must be. I cannot expect for him to provide me with so much attention."

Sansa said it as though she didn't deserve the attention, and Margaery desperately wanted Sansa to see that this wasn't her fault, and she could, but the alternative was hardly better.

Margaery braced herself once again, closing her eyes and letting out a shaky breath. She immediately caught Sansa's attention, as she knew she would.

"Sansa," she breathed, lifting her eyes to the girl and trying to keep her voice from wavering. She had to be strong now. Sansa stiffened, her eyes full of growing concern, which only made Margaery's stomach twist more. "I brought you here because I needed to speak with you. There is something that you need to know, something you _should've_ known long before this."

She took a well needed sip of her wine, before willing herself to continue, "In Highgarden, the people there were much more…more open minded, than they are here in the Capitol."

Sansa was looking at her curiously, unsure of what it was she was supposed to follow. Margaery continued, "by that, I mean many people, women and men alike, indulged themselves in activities that most in Kings Landing do not. While I'm sure some do, it is not looked upon highly here."

Now Sansa was looking really confused, and Margaery could hardly stand it anymore.

"Activities that involve women loving women, and men loving men."

Sansa face immediately grew red and she suddenly looked very panicked, causing Margaery to begin to feel the same. It took her a moment to realize that Sansa was looking anywhere but her, and she wondered if they were perhaps more prejudiced in the North than she first thought.

"What do you think of that, Sansa?"

Sansa looked bewildered that she might be asking, "I-Im not sure, I never gave it much thought. I suppose it's alright though, it's not completely unheard of in the North," she said as though reading Margaery's mind, though she still refused to meet Margaery's gaze, "But…why are you telling me this?"

Margaery shook her head, preparing to deliver the news that Sansa would never be loved as she thought she would, that her marriage would effectively be a sham, and the only true solace she may ever find will be in a secret lover whom she will never be able to marry and share children with. The more Margaery said it, the more pathetic the upside sounded.

"Sansa, Loras prefers the company of men," she rushed out, the words spilling from her mouth like sour bile, making her throat burn as she forced them out. Sansa visibly winced as the air shot from her lungs, and this time she stood, her slightly trembling legs carrying her as far as the window.

"Sansa?" Margaery asked tentatively, remaining in her seat for the time being.

"You…You didn't think this would be something I would want to know?" she hissed, causing Margaery to retract further into herself, for she didn't think Sansa would have so much venom in her words. Then again, she deserved that.

"You're right Sansa, there is nothing I can say to excuse my not telling you. I should have said something right away, but-"

"But," Sansa said coldly, still not turning to face her, "that was not your duty, was it? Your duty was to simply introduce the two of us, so I can become a Tyrell and handover the North. It was not your duty to absolve me of my concerns, nor find me a husband who might grow to love me. No, you did what you needed to do just fine. You got your bargaining chip, I'm sure your grandmother is very proud."

Her words were scathing, and Margaery could hardly bear the thought of Sansa seeing her as some monster who never cared for her at all. Her words were cut her like a knife, everyone of them dripping with truth, which burned Margaery to the core knowing what her family had conditioned her to do. But what's done was done, and duty would always come first, no matter how much it hurt. Now she just needed Sansa to know, that she truly didn't want it to be this way, that she needed Sansa to know how she felt now, despite what her initial motives were.

"Sansa," Margaery pleaded, and now she stood, daring to inch her way to the broken girl that stood before her, "I'm so, so sorry, when you first came to Kings Landing, you're right. You were just a bargaining chip. It's what I was told was our plan for you, and it was my duty to fulfill it. But please, hear me Sansa, everything changed when I first spoke with you."

Sansa still hadn't turned, even as Margaery approached behind her, coming up to place a hand on her trembling shoulder, wincing as Sansa flinched away and withdrew to herself. She lowered her voice to whisper, "I began to convince myself that it was the right thing to do, because we were getting you out of Kings Landing. That despite us marrying you to a man who will never love you, at least we were getting you away from the Lannisters. I told myself that was enough,"

She reached for Sansa again, taking her by the forearm and giving her a gently tug, willing her to face her. This time Sansa did not flinch, and actually complied, turning to face her. She kept her eyes down, and Margaery could see the tears that ran down her face, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"It wasn't enough," Margaery continued, stepping even closer to the girl, "the closer I became to you, the guiltier I felt, as I realized that you did not deserve a life like that. Not without knowing what this was. If it was going to happen anyway, I couldn't stand the thought of you finding out another way. If I cared about you at all, I had to tell you the truth…" she trailed off, desperately wishing Sansa would just look at her, but instead the other girls lip trembled, and she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the ground in front of her.

"The truth," Sansa said bitterly, her voice breaking with emotion, "that no one will love me. Not even close. _Gods_ , I feel so stupid…"

And just like that, she was pulling away again, retreating back into herself, away from a world that continues to destroy what's left of Sansa Stark, and Margaery Tyrell had just left her mark too. She couldn't let her do this; the walls were being put back up right before her eyes, and she had to save Sansa from herself, from the pain her careless words had caused her, and let her know that Margaery was still _here_ , that she wanted desperately to regain that trust back.

She took the girls head in her hands, gently, but firmly enough to ground her, to keep her from running away. Sansa's eyes dragged up to her own, impossibly blue when they shone with tears. The pads of her thumb swept under her eyes, catching the tears that threatened to fall, repeating the process as needed.

"Sansa," she murmured, and while she was expecting the other girl to be frightened and closed off, she was thrown off by the look she found instead. It was confused, but almost intrigued, like Sansa was watching her intently, almost as though she was as dazed as Margaery felt.

She couldn't register when she had started to lean forward, the widening of Sansa's eyes was her only indication of what she was doing, and she had a split moment where she recognized that she might, no, _definitely_ was making a huge mistake, possibly further breaking Sansa's trust in the process, but she couldn't resist, for her body wasn't her own.

When her lips met Sansa's she couldn't help the small sigh that escaped her; while she tasted faintly of Dornish red, she had a subtle sweetness that overpowered it still, making Margaery's mouth water and she felt a high that shocked through her body, and she wasn't sure if her heart was beating so hard out of fear or excitement.

Seven _hells_ , kissing Sansa just felt right.

She cradled her face gently as she moved her lips expertly against the younger girl. Sansa wasn't quite returning the kiss, but she wasn't pulling away either. It took everything in Margaery to pull herself out of this hole that was consuming her, Sansa's lips being the only thing that mattered anymore, and she was teetering on a very dangerous edge right now. She had to give Sansa the choice.

She pulled back hesitantly, a small bit of moisture connecting their bottom lips before disappearing completely, and she retreated with bare restraint, pulling back just far enough to see Sansa's expression.

She expected her to back away in horror, perhaps slap her across the face, and she waited for either of those things to happen. They didn't.

She waited for her to say something, _anything_ , to tell her to stop, or how wrong this was, how much she hates Margaery for what she did to her. She didn't say a word.

Her expression remained almost unchanged, save for a little more surprised, her eyes a little wider, and the tears had stopped falling. Her breath was coming out in short, rapid breaths, if the heaving of her chest was any indication. Margaery's gaze fell to her lips once more, which were now puffy and wet and so inviting, slightly parted as her hot breath came out and Margaery once again found her resolve breaking, and she acted without thinking and allowed her body to move on it's own accord, drawn to the other girl like a moth to flame, happy to burn in the light that is Sansa Stark.

She took her lips again, slightly more persistent this time, not failing to notice the purr deep in her throat as she did so. She dug her nails lightly in her soft, red hair, burying her hands in her tresses, partially out of fear that they would start to wander somewhere else.

To her delight, Sansa had also softly gripped her shoulders, though not to push away.

Not until Margaery gently nudged her lips apart with her tongue, the small gasp that followed lost in the air, eagerly moving to fill the younger girls mouth, completely and utterly enraptured in the sensation, until-

Sansa jumped back as though Margaery's lips had scorched her where she stood, and Margaery felt the loss as her lips cooled in the air, the warmth gone in a painful instant. Her own chest was heaving as she dared look at Sansa, who was staring wildly at her, backing away as though Margaery were some sort of threat to her.

"Sansa-" she whimpered, afraid her voice might break the girl, might break herself.

"No," Sansa gasped, her hand clutching her chest as though it were about to burst, looking very much afraid of Margaery, who didn't dare move, "No, you don't get to do that to me."

She backed away from Margaery like she couldn't escape her quick enough, as though Margaery was a poison, a fiend, something to be fearful of.

Margaery wasn't sure why her heart broke so, but it did.

"Sansa, please-" she reached for her like a desperate fool, knowing it was all in vain.

"I need-I should g-go," Sansa barely gasped out, her hand blindly reaching for the knob, before yanking it opening and slipping through as soon as she could fit, disappearing to leave Margaery buried in her own stupid regrets.

The room was stifling, and she began to claw at the lace of her gown, removing it with quiet anger and allowing it to pool in a heap at her feet. Stepping away, she dared look at herself in the mirror, prepared to see the monster that she felt she was, and her reflection did not disappoint.

She was flushed, a blush dusting her features which was evident even against her sun kissed skin, not to mention the swell of her lips after pressing them insistently against Sansa's, taking that from her like some sort of wild animal, fully taking advantage of Sansa's vulnerable situation, even if she didn't mean to.

Even if she felt she had completely lost control, the most terrifying mistake of them all.

Any hope of Sansa's forgiveness had literally been kissed goodbye, and now she was left wondering how Loras had began the day as the screw up, yet she finished it with the very title.

Her grandmother would certainly think she had lost her mind. There was no way she could know about this.

How would she explain the sudden tension between the two of them?

She shakily went back to the bed, somehow more grateful than before that Joffrey would be leaving for a week come the morning, for she certainly didn't wish to see anyone after this blunder. She would have to find a way to avoid Cersei, perhaps she could say she was coming down with something. She also needed to start figuring out of there was any possible way to mend things with Sansa now, though she didn't allow herself too much hope in that aspect.

Normally, Margaery had fantastic judgement, this behavior was entirely out of character for the Tyrell girl. She never allowed herself to act on her emotions, nor was stupid enough to indulge in something that could potentially destroy everything she worked for.

She had done both of those things, kissing Sansa.

She climbed into bed silently, hugging herself as she tried to soothe the pounding in her head. While she didn't know why she gave into her urges so recklessly, she did recognize why they were there in the first place.

She wanted Sansa Stark.

She wanted her ever since she saw her praying, her red hair like fire in the wind. When she first held the girl and felt her tremble in her arms, overwhelmed with the urge to protect her. How her gut twisted with a possessiveness she had never known, when Baelish wrapped his slimy arm around Sansa. And that kiss confirmed her every dreaded suspicion, that this was more than friendly, more than just feeling protective.

She had no right, this she knew. Perhaps she wasn't so different from her brother after all, for she could not help who she was now.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Sansa_ **

The second her chamber door close, the echo signifying she was finally safe behind her own walls, with no one to see her and the state she was in, she let out the wrenching sob she had been holding since fleeing Margaery's chambers. Her hand came to her mouth and she squeezed her eyes shut, before letting herself slide against the wood to the cool, stone floor.

The ballads that the bard's sang.

The absence of butterflies. The deep sense of longing.

These things were never meant for Ser Loras.

She let out another shuddering sob as she pulled her knees to her chest, her own heart breaking for herself. Of course she would find herself on a course as ridiculous as this, after having an olive branch extended to her that girls like her could only dream of.

And then she goes and falls for the wrong Tyrell. To make things worse, Sansa was already sure that Margaery was doing this as some sort of last ditch attempt to control her, and it had worked as she melted right into the older girls hands.

She felt so used, if her mother could only see how foolish she was now. She was a disgrace to the Stark name, an utterly hopeless player in an impossible game, and the thought only made her tears fall harder.

She hated how Margaery's lips set her body aflame, down to her very core, and she never so alive as she did when Margaery's hands ran through her hair possessively, and she had a sickening thought that maybe it wouldn't be so bad being the Tyrells pawn, as long as Margaery kissed her like that again. Even if it was only sometimes. Even if she didn't mean it.

She was hit with a fresh wave of self loathing as she picked herself up off the floor, grateful that Shae must have seen herself to her own chambers long ago. There were fresh small clothes on the bed waiting for her, and she eagerly changed into them so she could crawl under the safety of her covers, hiding away from the ugly world, from herself. At this point she was making herself sick, and it took everything in her not to run to the chamber pot.

She slipped into the silk sheets, replaying the kiss over and over again in her mind. The small noise that escaped Margaery's throat as she pressed her lips to her own, she could almost hear it in her head, she wanted to hear that noise again. She wanted Margaery to look at her through hooded eyes like she did not long ago.

But she couldn't. How could she allow herself to be treated like this? To be held under the thumb of not only the Lannisters, but now House Tyrell. She allowed herself to be charmed by the rose of Highgarden, and might have unknowingly placed herself in a more dangerous position than before. Now, her feelings were involved.

Now she was left with a choice, one that should be easy, but she could already see that wasn't the case. She wasn't sure if Margaery would try to approach her tomorrow, but Sansa decided she would not hide. She would go to the dining hall, to the gardens, and everywhere else she pleased, to show Margaery she had not gotten to her, even if she had.

The cool linens soothed her burning skin, providing her some mild relief. With no more tears to cry, she allowed sleep to envelop her, with images of a girl with chestnut hair leaning in towards her, making her heart sing and shatter all at the same time.

* * *

The next morning she woke with her throat still burning from yesterday's tears. Shae had come to ready her for the day, bringing along some honey tea for which Sansa was grateful. Even more so when Shae didn't utter a word about her disheveled appearance. Her eyes were swollen and reddened, her hair in disarray. She sipped the tea as Shae prepared the bath for her, wondering what she could wear today.

"Do you have anything planned for the day, my lady?" Shae asked her lightly, clearly trying to make conversation.

She sipped the tea, relishing as it soothed her aching throat, "No plans lady Shae. I imagine Ser Loras will find me to explain his absence." She felt pathetic even talking about it.

"Perhaps you might go find the Lady Margaery. I hear the King is leaving this morn on a hunt, no doubt she would like the company, yes?"

Sansa bit her lip as she tried not to choke on the hot liquid. Margaery was the last person Sansa needed to see at this time, and with Joffrey going away with his men, the Tyrell will no doubt be looking for her. She would stick to her convictions, though, and not shy away from the problem like she was typically used to. If Margaery wanted to talk, she would just have to find her.

"She might," Sansa agreed, though tried not to think on it too much.

"How about we get you to the dining hall to break your fast my lady?" Shae questioned, and Sansa tried to ignore the hopeful look on her face. Shae was well aware of Sansa's poor eating habits, and it wasn't lost on Sansa the way she looked at her when her gown needed yet _another_ alteration, when the tray of lunch she brings her goes cold and untouched. It made her more nauseous, the way Shae mothered her on the subject, the way her face was lighting up now.

"Y-yes that would be fine," she lied, though she didn't have the heart to tell Shae she was not hungry. Not today.

Shae accompanied her to the dining hall; it was rather early still, though Joffrey had probably ordered his guards they were to leave ages ago. Her thoughts were confirmed when she entered and saw only Cersei and Tyrion. She was a little worried when she didn't see Margaery, and wondered if she ended up going with Joffrey.

In fact, most of the noble born lords were not present, not even Baelish. She wondered just how many might have gone with Joffrey and why, or perhaps she was much earlier than she thought.

Stranger still, was Tyrion and his sister willingly dining with one another, alone, whilst also engaging in conversation. Sansa took a seat at one of the tables with Shae as a servant brought around eggs and ham, trying to ignore the way her stomach rolled at the sight. She glanced back to Tyrion, who was leaning close to his sister, and Sansa had a brief disturbing image of Jaimie and Cersei. She pushed it from her mind as she watched him frantically whispering to her, his expression distraught. Sansa tried to read Cersei's face, but it was cold and even, as though the words she spoke were gospel, clearly having the upper hand of the conversation.

Then Tyrion looked to her, and he looked _afraid_.

Sansa felt her breath catch, daring to flit her eyes to Cersei. She too, was looking in Sansa's direction, her expression unreadable behind her goblet. Sansa had a terrifying feeling that they were conversing about _her_ , plotting about Sansa.

What could they be speaking of that would have any concern to her? She willed her heart to slow and for the cold sweat that had broken in her palms to retreat, as she focused her eyes on the silverware in front of her. She felt a slight nudge from her side and looked to see Shae glancing at her quizzically.

"Wont you eat, my lady?" Shae asked, almost pleaded, and for once Sansa was happy to have the distraction.

"Maybe just some fruit," she smiled, taking a clump of grapes from the center of the table and began to absentmindedly choke them down. Each one fought to move past the lump built in her throat, telling herself that just a few more and she could escape this place.

"I'd like to go pray," Sansa said in between mouthfuls.

Shae almost scoffed, " _already_?" Sansa shot her a look, which made the handmaiden roll her eyes even harder, "Sansa," she whispered, careful not to be overhead using her name so casually, "you cant just expect to pray your problems away constantly."

"I'm not praying my problems away," Sansa said, sharper than intended. She didn't feel comfortable with Shae calling her out like this.

"Lady Olenna has arranged for you and Ser Loras to have lunch with her today. Her handmaiden informed me a short while ago," Shae said, as though it were something Sansa were dying to know. In reality, after what happened last night with his sister, Sansa wasn't sure how she felt about seeing Loras again, let alone with his grandmother there to apologize for him. On the other hand, she still had a duty to House Tyrell now, and after the bone chilling interaction with Tyrion and Cersei, she couldn't leave Kings Landing a moment too soon.

"That sounds lovely. Until then, I will pray."

This time Shae did scoff, shaking her head as she watched Sansa stand. "I only worry about you."

Sansa tried to smile warmly as she straightened her dress, "I'll find you later, lady Shae."

She swore she could feel Tyrion's eyes still burning into her as she walked away. Every time she was around the Lannisters, she couldn't help but be reminded of what's she's lost, and that she was still here. She wondered briefly if she should find Baelish, speak to him about what she just saw. If he was going to get her out of here, surely she could trust him with her suspicions. Then again, it could be that she was simply overreacting.

She thought about going to find him, assuming he would be at his brothel already if he wasn't present at in the dining hall, but she wondered how suspicious it might look if she were found lurking in a place like that.

She had a small bout of panic when she thought about the possibility that he had already slipped off to the Eyrie, offended that she wouldn't make a choice, thus deciding it would be best to leave her behind. No, he couldn't, he wouldn't leave Sansa without so much as a word to her. He loved her mother, and there was the very real, very disturbing possibility he loved her too.

She was jarred from her thoughts at the sight of Margaery, _Margaery_ , the very person she was sort of trying, sort of not to avoid, and here it wasn't even noon and she couldn't even manage that. What in Seven Hells was she doing in her chambers?

"Sansa!" Margaery gasped just as she was shutting Sansa's door. "My apologies, I know what this must look like…"

Sansa's eyes flitted to the door, before settling back on Margaery, fixing her gaze in an evened stare.

"Why don't you tell me what it looks like then?" She winced at herself and her uncharacteristic cold words. The very least she could do is give Margaery the chance to defend herself, even if she wasn't awarded that chance very often.

"I was looking for you," Margaery started, taking her lip anxiously between her teeth, "I was hoping we could talk. I don't want us to leave things the way we did last night."

Sansa bit back a snide comment, opting to let out a frustrated sigh instead. She opened her chambers and gestured for the older woman to come inside. Once the door shut, they both took a seat in silence. Sansa waited for Margaery to speak first, not about to give her the satisfaction of her emotions.

Margaery looked about as torn as Sansa felt, looking as though she wanted to say something, but she couldn't find the words. Sansa tried to enjoy the feeling, watching Margaery be the flustered one for once, a nice change from her perfect demeanor, but found that she only felt sorry for the older girl. Truth be told, Sansa didn't want this weighing between them either. She had enjoyed very much what she had with Margaery, she was her only friend she had in the Capitol that she thought she could trust. She wanted that feeling back, which made her more angry that Margaery had ruined it in the first place.

Margaery sighed and turned to Sansa, her eyes pleading what her words could not convey. She looked as though she wanted to reach for her, but thought better of it and clasped her hands in her lap instead.

"Sansa," she started, wincing at how harsh her voice seemed against the tense air, "I'm so sorry. I know that's not what you want to hear, but it's the truth. The real, honest truth. I am sorry for what I've done to you."

Sansa said nothing, but she forced her gaze to Margaery's eyes, urging her to continue.

"I want you to have a choice. If you do not wish to marry Loras, I will tell my grandmother, and I will make it so," she finished quietly, and she waited for Sansa's response with bated breath.

Sansa was surprised that it was this, Margaery was bringing up, and not that kiss they shared. Did Margaery truly want to pretend it never happened? The thought saddened Sansa a little, confirming her suspicions that it had been a desperate and ridiculous attempt on Margaery's part to charm Sansa. She was more disappointed that it had seemed to work.

Did she want to marry Loras? She had already spent the previous night weighing the pros and cons of continuing with the marriage, realizing that despite his lifestyle, she still needed to save herself. If this was a way out, who was she to turn it down? She was right about one thing, last night when she fled Margaery's chambers, that she would never be loved in the way she used to think she would. There would be no white knights to save her, and promises of forever are empty and hollow. Love was not only fleeting, but apparently, non existent.

"I…" Sansa said lamely, unsure of how to answer.

"I miss you, Sansa," Margaery pleaded softly, "I know I made a horrible mistake, I want to gain that trust back. If you'll let me."

Her words washed over Sansa like a warm, gentle wave, soothing the anger that previously burned inside her veins. She had no idea how Margaery's soft voice was able to do that, but she now found herself inclined to forgive the other woman. Sansa couldn't afford to lose friends, not while she remained here. She needed to give up her pride in exchange for her safety, and if it meant keeping her head, Highgarden seemed like a much better option.

She sighed, "I don't want this between us either. You're offer for Highgarden remains a generous one, one that I would be happy to accept. I suppose…I suppose we can make it work, regardless. He is very kind, and I want him to find his happiness too."

"What of yours?" Margaery asked, her voice sad.

"Mine?" Sansa laughed bitterly, "What of yours? What of any of ours? Women in this world do not chase happiness. Its unobtainable, the sooner I accept it, the better." She realized how terribly dramatic she sounded, but it didn't make her words any less true.

Margaery looked thoughtful, as though she were weighing Sansa's words, "I think we find happiness wherever we can. Sometimes, if it cannot be found, we create our own."

Sansa thought about how she could possibly create her own happiness, considering the situation she has found herself thrown in. A sham marriage, a dead family, her own home taken first by her own father's ward, then by a house that once pledged themselves to the Starks. It was becoming increasingly hard to find happiness around her, until Margaery.

She realized with a start that the only happiness she had felt since leaving her home had came with the arrival of Margaery, and her knuckles began to turn white as she gripped the chair, unsure of what this new revelation meant to her.

"Why did you kiss me?" she murmured, her face reddening out of embarrassment or anxiety, she wasn't sure. Her heart thudded in her chest, reminding her what a mistake it was to ask, and she would only have herself to blame once she had her answer.

Margaery raised a brow, looking slightly taken aback by the question, "Why do you think I kissed you, Sansa?" she asked almost incredulously.

Annoyance flared in her chest that Margaery would have the audacity to answer her question with another question. Did she truly expect to dance her way out of this, leaving Sansa to pick up the pieces and sort them out herself? It was Margaery's fault they were in this situation in the first place. If Margaery wanted her answer, then Sansa wasn't going to hold back giving her one.

"I asked myself that, until I realized the only reason you would do something like that would be to exert some sick form of control over me, just as everyone else here has done, in order to keep me compliant. You know I'm still your family's key to the North, and perhaps it was another way to confuse me and keep me as your victim, to ensure I will always come to you."

And now it was clear, Sansa was angry. She could barely keep her words from wavering as they said them, not the same could be said for her clenched fists. She didn't care if her words hurt Margaery, in fact, she hoped they did. Maybe then she could see how humiliating it is for Sansa, for them to treat her like some puppet, manipulating her life however they see fit. But to her ever-growing annoyance, Margaery didn't look hurt at all. Not even a bit.

Instead, she had moved her chair closer, and Sansa had already seen this play out before, just last night, and she opened her mouth to protest before Margaery could try and put her under that same spell again. But before she could speak, Margaery held up a hand of her own, and something in her eyes had Sansa's words dying in her throat.

"You can't think of any other reason? Any at all?" Margaery said softly, and Sansa swore she saw her gaze drop to her lips just for a second.

And it hit her. The air was sucked from her lungs as the possibility occurred to her, a possibility that was never thought of before because it just didn't seem logical whatsoever. Even now, she couldn't dare let her mind even think of the notion, lest she get herself involved in something that she surely could never come back from.

"Margaery," she breathed, and she didn't say more, what could she say?

"Stop me Sansa," Margaery hushed, "stop me, and we will pretend as though it never happened."

Sansa's eyes darted to her chamber door, purely out of instinct, and she wondered vaguely if she locked it. It was unsettling, that this was her first thought, instead of stopping Margaery.

Margaery, who had befriended her that day she found her praying, looking like an earthbound goddess as her chestnut hair turned gold against the setting sun. Who was closing the distance now, and Sansa could smell the garden that was her, count the small freckles on her sun kissed face.

Her lips hovered over Sansa's, not daring to move closer. Sansa once again found herself with a choice; run to the door, find Baelish and call off this false marriage, leave to never see the Tyrells or Lannisters again and maybe one day, she could forget the name Margaery.

Or, there was the ever more complicated choice, where she allowed herself to give in to this new temptation she knew nothing about, an act that would clearly put her in danger and possibly cost her her very life, one way or another.

The choice should have been easy, but nothing is ever so simple.

She closed the distance, throwing all caution to the wind, thinking of Margaery's speech of happiness as she did it. To hell with consequences, Sansa deserved this small happiness, and as much as she tried to deny her feelings last night, kissing Margaery felt _good_.

The older girl surged forward, pushing Sansa's back flush with the chair, and Sansa knew that this felt different than the only other kiss she had to compare to.

Joffrey's kisses were violent and taking, Margaery's lips felt the complete opposite.

Unsure what to do with her hands, she gripped Margaery's waist lamely, and she was acutely aware of how inexperienced she was. Margaery didn't seem to mind, as she tilted her head to gain better access. When she felt Margaery's tongue probe her lips she gasped, allowing the other girl entry. It was a foreign feeling, though not unwelcome, and she tried to match Margaery's actions with her own.

Margaery let out a breathless moan into her mouth and Sansa felt a strange, warm buzz begin to spread through her. Without warning, there was a rush of wetness between her thighs, the sensation jarring her out of the moment as she gasped and broke the kiss, both of them panting into each others mouths.

Margaery had nearly climbed on Sansa during the process, and her face heated up as Margaery pushed herself off, back into her own seat though still close enough to touch.

"Sansa," Margaery panted, placing a hand on her thigh, "Are you…are you all right? Did you like that?"

"Y-yes," Sansa breathed, and _Gods_ , she did. There was a mess of feelings rushing through her all at once, but the one that stood out most was the pure ecstasy and excitement that drove through her whenever Margaery kissed her. She wanted to do it again. "I-I would…what does this mean?"

There was where the problem lie. The answer that she was sure Margaery wouldn't be able to give her. Did Margaery have feelings for Sansa? Did Sansa feel that way? Sansa had never fallen for anyone, except for when she thought she had fallen for Joffrey. She most definitely had never fallen for a woman. She had never even kissed anyone with such vigor.

So what did it mean, that she was kissing Margaery this way? And what were they to do now, how did they treat one another from here on out?

Margaery bit her lip, looking every bit unsure as Sansa felt, "I don't know Sansa…I just…I want this with you. I cant stop thinking of you, and I don't know what that means but…" she stood then, running her hand nervously through her hair. Sansa felt compelled to stand with her, and she approached her cautiously from behind. "I understand if you don't."

Sansa reached from her, gently probing her shoulder, turning the older girl around to face her. Margaery's eyes were filled with emotion, the clearest one being fear. She was afraid that Sansa would turn her away, would tell her this was all a mistake. And while Sansa couldn't be sure if it was a mistake or not, she was sure that didn't want to leave this when it was just being discovered.

"I do," Sansa whispered, "I do, it's just…what if we were to get caught? I couldn't bear if something happened to you." Sansa was trying to be sensible, now that the temporary cloud that fogged her brain during the kiss was lifted. She cupped a hand to Margaery's cheek, her heart flipping when the older girl didn't step away.

Margaery leaned into the touch, taking her hand to hold Sansa's there to her cheek, as though she dreaded the thought of her leaving, like she ran away last night. Sansa felt a bubble of guilt rise through her, and she wondered if Margaery had lay awake last night too, dealing with her confusing feelings all on her own.

"We will be careful, sweet girl," She took Sansa's hand and pressed a feather kiss to her palm. She wasn't sure if the butterflies came from the nickname or the gesture. "We will meet, late in the night, or anytime we have in the garden. I want this, Sansa. I want _you_."

Sansa wasn't sure in what way Margaery meant that. She wasn't even sure what this was. She found herself without the will to ask, as Margaery was pressing light kissing up her wrist now, her lips lingering on her pulse, and Sansa felt her knees weaken and the familiar buzz rush through her again.

"Margaery," she whimpered, without meaning to. Her face flushed but Margaery pulled her to her, until their bodies were pressed together, taking her lips in a passionate kiss that had Sansa forgetting all about being embarrassed.

Sansa was clumsier than Margaery, this she knew, but the other girl paid no mind as she smiled into the kiss, her hands tying themselves up in Sansa's hair.

"I've wanted this for so long," Margaery breathed, and Sansa wondered just how long she meant, if Margaery had always saw Sansa this way. The thought made her giddy and her stomach pool with a pleasant warmth that spread to her chest. Margaery wanted her.

Margaery's lips moved to the exposed flesh of her neck, suckling at the soft flesh where her pulse thudded madly underneath. The sensation caused her breath to catch, and the wetness was back with a vengeance, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

"H-how long?" she gasped out, as Margaery nipped her with her teeth before soothing it with another warm kiss.

"Since I first laid eyes on you," she whispered into Sansa's skin, and the words accompanied by the heat of Margaery's breath made Sansa tremble, her mind blown as to how fast all of this was really moving. She never thought she would have taken a lover in the form of the future Queen, but she was also very quickly wondering how she had ever went without this.

"Oh, Margaery," she whined, and the older girl chuckled into the lobe of her ear before taking it in her teeth, and Sansa was hit with a wave of arousal that almost sent her reeling, her undergarments surely ruined by now.

The way Margaery's lips caused Sansa to buckle felt utterly sinful, and Sansa had never been filled with such an excitement in her life. Here she was, with a woman no less, getting felt up by the future Queen of Westeros. It felt so dirty in a very pleasing way.

Sansa dipped her head to take Margaery's lips again, desperate to taste her, for her tongue to fill her mouth as it did before. Margaery happily obliged her, their teeth clacking together in the heated moment as she pushed her tongue so deep in her mouth she nearly gagged, though it felt delightful.

Margaery's hands had began to wander to her gown, and she felt a slight tugging at the front as she deftly removed the lacing holding the gown together. Her heart jumped when she felt the older girls hand move down her front, reaching to cup a breast gently in her hand.

"M-Margaery!" she keened, feeling completely lewd to be allowing Margaery to do this, but she couldn't stop. It felt wonderful, the way Margaery palmed her breast in her warm hand, kneading it gently as though Sansa were delicate, she took such care even when she took a pert nipple in her fingers-

Sansa cried out and doubled over, effectively removing Margaery's hand as she jumped back out of pure instinct. She clutched the front of her gown almost painfully, and she forced herself to look at Margaery, who was now looking concerned.

"Sansa, I'm sorry, are you-?"

"No!" Sansa gasped, a little too loudly, but the last thing she wanted was for Margaery to have the wrong impression, "No, Margaery it was….it was _wonderful_ , it's just…"

Margaery inched towards her, taking one of her hands and guiding her to the bed. Sansa must have looked like she needed to sit down, and she was grateful.

"I'm a maiden," she whispered quietly, feeling shameful to admit it. "I'm afraid I've never…not even a little bit."

Understanding dawned on Margaery's face, and she clasped both of Sansa's hands in her own, leaning forward to meet Sansa's downcast eyes, "Oh Sansa, it's nothing to be ashamed of. I am a maiden too, though we do experiment with some…practice, in Highgarden. I don't want you to feel rushed into this," her thumbs gently caressed Sansa's, "I want to experience everything with you, at your pace."

Sansa heart bloomed at Margaery's caring words, and she couldn't help but feel inclined to believe her. She felt a smile form on her face for the first time since everything happened between them.

"I would like that," she murmured, relishing the way Margaery's face lit up.

"You have lunch with my brother and grandmother today," Sansa only nodded. "He will be apologizing for his lack of decorum, and no doubt discuss the details of your upcoming wedding. My grandmother plans for it to be soon after mine. To think," she pushed a strand of hair from Sansa's face, her expression turning solemn, "you could be on your way to Highgarden within a couple of weeks."

Sansa swallowed hard, she did not want to hear about Margaery's marriage to Joffrey, and now she even felt upset about their looming departure. While she was once elated at the thought of leaving Kings Landing, she now felt a sense of loss, leaving Margaery behind.

"Will you come to our wedding?"

Margaery smiled at her reassuringly, "I will, and I will visit every chance I get. We will find a way, Sansa."

She said those words with such conviction that Sansa found herself nodding along with her, dispelling her previous doubts for the time being. Perhaps they could make this work, no matter how painful the time in between might be.

Sansa smiled and without thought, surged forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Margaery's cheek. The older girl smiled before getting up and straightening her gown with a sigh.

"I'll leave you to get ready for the day. With Joffrey gone for the week, it shouldn't be too hard for me to find you later," she said with a knowing smile. Sansa felt her heart flutter, already looking forward to when that next time will be.

With that Margaery was gone, though the scent of rosewater still hung in the air like the ghost of her. Sansa hugged her pillow like some silly young girl, though that was how she were feeling. Her heart hammered in her chest as the realization of what she had done began to really sink in, and she wondered if Margaery would be for the rest of her life, or until they got caught.

Or, until Margaery didn't want her anymore.

The last thought almost terrified her the most, though she tried to dispel that thought by remembering Margaery's words.

They would find a way. They had to.

They no longer had much of a choice.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! You'll probably notice this chapter is a little shorter than the others, and while I try to keep them all at roughly the same length, I felt ending this one where I did just felt right. We will resume normal lengths next update, and I will try and update sooner to make up for it. Enjoy!

_**Margaery** _

She couldn't hold back the sigh that tore past her lips as Sansa nipped her collarbone, her hands fumbling with the lacing of Margaery's gown, desperate to expose more skin for her lips to find.

" _Hush_ ," Sansa chuckled through her ministrations, "someone will hear."

They had been doing this for the past week, ever since the day in Sansa's chambers where they discovered the addictive chemistry between them. A very loud part of Margaery screamed how wrong this was, how dangerous it would be if they were to get caught, how her grandmother would think of her as careless as her brother, if not more so.

But she couldn't bring herself to care, not while Sansa was leaving marks just above her breast, marring her as her own. The younger girl too, had grown more bolder with every outing they had together. What was once clumsy, unsure kisses that were fleeting and chaste, had turned into the rustling of clothes, heavy breathing and soft whines that seemed to echo in whatever chamber they were hiding away in. Margaery adored this version of Sansa, when she was unbidden, and took control.

Joffrey returned tomorrow, which would undoubtedly make their meetings harder, though they had spent the week planning around his presence. Margaery tried not to think about Joffrey, and worse, their wedding night, for now she only wanted to share these things with Sansa.

She knew that could never be, but she could enjoy this moment.

" _Sa-ahh-Sansa_ ," Margaery begged as Sansa lapped at her pulse, her hands squeezing her waist possessively as she held her against the bookshelf of the library.

They hadn't moved further than this; not yet, though Margaery knew they were dangerously close. She could no longer ignore how heated their kisses had become, how Sansa pressed against her trying to get desperately closer, trying to find that friction. They had even taken to groping each other outside of their gowns, their hands getting more exploring with every mound caressed.

" _Hush I said!_ " Sansa giggled, looking over her shoulder.

"You're devilish," Margaery jester, breathless with arousal. "You should go, you've kept Shae waiting long enough."

Sansa whined in frustration before nipping at Margaery's lower lip, eliciting a shuddering gasp.

" _Gods_ ," Margaery moaned.

"I want to kiss you some more," Sansa growled, pushing her tongue greedily into Margaery's mouth where she was gladly accepted. Margaery's nails raked down Sansa's back as she arched into her, falling easily under her spell without much persuasion. Margaery thought first that she would have the hold over Sansa, though it was apparent that Sansa had her just as bad. Margaery was unsettled by just how little control she had when she was with the Stark girl, but now she was in far too deep, and could only hope it didn't best her in the end.

She quickly flipped them around, once again needing some semblance of control over her or else she would end up behind this bookcase forever, kissing the day away with Sansa until they inevitably got caught. The key to this working, was to be careful.

She kissed Sansa slowly, lovingly, though less passionate than before, signaling it was time for them to get on with the day. Sansa groaned in frustration at the loss of contact.

" _Go_ ," she said firmly, though she couldn't wipe the smile from her face, "There will be plenty of time later. Besides, I want you to wear something beautiful to my wedding, something that will make it so I cant keep my eyes off you, sweet girl."

Her own heart jumped as she spoke those words, unable to deny that their secret turned her on in a frightening sort of way. To be at Joffrey's side, knowing that it were Sansa's lips she desired, Sansa's embrace she would take refuge in as soon as she was able.

It wasn't without its difficulties; the very reason Margaery had befriended Sansa in the first place was to gain her a place in their House, whilst simultaneously removing her from the looming threat here in Kings Landing. Margaery was no fool, she heard what Joffrey and the guards had done to her sweet girl, how Cersei stood by and allowed her son to do such monstrous things, and that a bystander by the name of Tyrion Lannister had been the only one to come to come to her aid.

The mere thought made her blood boil.

She needed to get Sansa out soon, for she does not know what she would do if Joffrey were to abuse Sansa in front of her now. She likes to think that she could prevent anything Joffrey would try to do, but she couldn't be as sure as she liked. If she outright defied him, it could mean death for them both.

She would be wed to Joffrey in a weeks time, she only had to get through that week, and she would be safe. Surely she could manage Joffrey in that time frame, warn Sansa of his whereabouts and his moods for her to steer clear of them.

She tried to push it from her mind as she entered her chambers, where Elinor was waiting for her to change into something light for tea in the gardens. Margaery was slightly dreading the conversation ahead with her grandmother, knowing all too well it would focus around Joffrey's return tomorrow. If she were to be this mans wife, she supposed she better get used to it.

"Good morning my lady," Elinor beamed as she rushed to help Margaery out of her current gown, "You look positively radiant today, may I ask what has you in such a good mood?"

Margaery smiled feeling the blush warm her cheeks. She trusted Elinor, she really did, as a faithful servant to House Tyrell. But a secret of this magnitude had the capability to destroy entire Houses from the map.

"It wouldn't have anything to do with the Stark girl, would it?"

Margaery blanched slightly, opening her mouth to give a rebuttal, to shut down such preposterous and offensive rumors-

"Relax, Margaery," Elinor soothed, comfortable using Margaery's name, "I'm loyal to House Tyrell, to you, and I would never betray that. Besides, its nice to see you smile."

And Margaery did smile at the thought of Sansa, vaguely wondering when they might meet again, what it would be like to have Sansa push her against a dark corner of the hall, tearing the lace from her dress in a violent burst of passion-

"You have your bedroom eyes, Margaery."

Her face burned and she shut her eyes, trying to will away the images between her and the red head. Elinor just chuckled at Margaery's current predicament, and began to fasten the lacings of her dress.

" _Gods_ , Elinor, I truly am enamored with the girl," she sighed, feeling good to finally repeat the torment that had been keeping her up throughout the night this past week. "But I am afraid. I know what we are doing is incredibly dangerous and yet…"

There shouldn't be any "and yet", she knew this. The risk of them getting caught was a very real one. One that would result in most likely their painful deaths, forever wiping out House Stark and shaming House Tyrell, and it would have all been for nothing.

"…and yet I cant stay away," she finished sadly. "Am I wrong?"

Her maidservant hummed in thought, assuming the task of braiding Margaery's hair. "You're right about it being dangerous, some would even say downright foolish of you to engage in such a thing. But tell me, is this just a passing fancy? A romp you feel you need to have before you settle into marriage? Or does this Sansa mean so much to you?"

When she thought of Sansa, she didn't think of her as a way to pass time or a bandage to her fear of marrying Joffrey. Perhaps this scared her more, that Sansa meant a great deal to her, more than Margaery would like to admit, and definitely more than she had planned.

"I care for her a great deal," Margaery said quietly.

"But you know, you can never be with her the way you desire to."

"Of course I know that," Margaery sighed, her good mood fading. "I don't know what it is, Elinor."

Elinor sighed as she made some final adjustments to her gown, brushing a few stray lint that had gathered at her shoulder. "If she makes you happy, Margaery, then I believe you should try. It's better than a guaranteed life of misery. Just be careful."

Despite her words, Margaery knew by her tone that she was suggesting that Margaery drop this romance, that it wasn't worth risking her life for. She knew she was right, and Margaery wasn't sure why she was disappointed, wasn't sure what answer she could have possibly expected.

"I will," she sighed, glancing in the mirror a last time before she left.

Elinor accompanied her to the gardens to meet her grandmother. The sun was beating down upon them, and she was grateful she had stopped to change into a different gown. She was already growing to hate the climate in Kings Landing. While it were warn in Highgarden, it lacked the sickly humidity that the Capitol offered, and she figured anyone who lived here needed a strong stomach for a plethora of reasons.

The flowers didn't bloom here, like they did in Highgarden.

She thought of Sansa Stark and Winterfell, imagining what Sansa might look like in a cloak of furs surrounded by white snow. It was admittedly hard for her to picture, though it was something she wouldn't be opposed to seeing. Perhaps one day, she could give Sansa her home back.

Margaery herself wouldn't mind seeing the North. She was sure even a harsh, desolate place must have its beauties. It did produce her red haired wolf after all. She warmed at the thought of a new nickname, eager to try it on Sansa to get her flustered.

Damn the Gods, every thought of hers turned back to the girl, much to her dismay her infatuation with her could very well turn into a problem if she didn't reign it in soon.

At the same time, she felt almost entitled to such a deliciously dangerous thing, after all, she was about to marry Joffrey.

Joffrey was another problem that they would have to work out, on top of everything else. He already has done so much damage in just a small amount of time, the smallfolk are already threatening to riot. His advisors think him insane, and rightfully so, and now Margaery would have to pick up all the pieces.

She wanted to be a good Queen, she really did. She had high ambitions to even achieve this status in the first place, she couldn't fathom wasting it. She didn't want to be remembered as a tyrant as so many others before her. As Joffrey was now.

She wouldn't.

The sight greeting her in the garden was not one she had expected; Loras stood before her grandmother, dressed in what would be considered more formal wear than usual. Margaery figured perhaps he had just come from a fitting for her wedding, before he was so rudely interrupted to be summoned to Lady Olenna. Her grandmother had a rather bad habit of disregarding the lives of those around her as long as her needs were met.

Loras seemed to be as irritated as Margaery would have been, had it been her taken away from her duties. More likely still, he may have been interrupted during one of his morning romps with his pillow boy, which might explain his body language now.

As she got closer, his voice, seething with anger, carried on the wind towards her, filling her with a nervous anxiety. Her brother, while emotional in his being, very rarely raised his voice to their grandmother, lest he sign himself a death wish while he was at it. If there was one thing lady Olenna did not tolerate, it was disrespect.

Which was all the more reason she found the situation unsettling, for her grandmother was sitting rather quietly, as though Loras' tirade hadn't phased her in the slightest. Her look held that of such finality, that Margaery was surprised Loras was attempting to argue with her of all. Margaery knew that look, and knew there was no swaying her grandmother once she was set.

"I wont! They can take my fucking head for all I care!" he bellowed, he face twisted in anger. She could feel his voice reverberating through the ground beneath her feet, and a cold sense of dread washed over her as the curse left his lips, hurling his anger towards the head of the Tyrell house.

"Loras!" she gasped out, looking frantically to Elinor whose fearful expression matched her own. "Leave us, Elinor, I shall find you later."

Loras' eyes were wild as he swiveled his head in Margaery's direction. She braced herself for him to unleash his wrath onto her next, her mind turning gears trying to frantically deduce what could have happened to him to make him so irate. Instead, he shot a hate filled look to their grandmother once more.

"Why don't you ask _her_!" he seethed, before spitting on the ground and storming off, the curses he continued to utter earning some very strange looks from unsuspecting passersby.

"Grandmother!" Margaery admonished, her eyes never leaving her brothers figure, not until she was sure he had stalked off completely, "What in the Seven Hells is wrong with him? What did you say?" she didn't want to sound too accusatory, though she wasn't blind to the fact that it was most likely her grandmother's doing to explain his poor mood.

Her grandmother harrumphed, her attention far too occupied with the decanter of wine in front of her rather than the situation that just developed before them, and Margaery felt a stab of annoyance at her nonchalant attitude.

"Grandmother-!"

"Sit, child, and you'll do well to remember not to raise your voice to me again." Olenna snapped impatiently, and Margaery complied, though not without the roll of her eyes. Margaery was a woman grown, now, and she was more than capable to make her own decisions. But even she knew to never cross her dear grandmother; she owed everything she had to this woman, whether she liked it or not.

They sat in silence, the suspense rattling Margaery's bones, though she knew this was the effect her grandmother was aiming for, and she would not give her the satisfaction of reacting. Instead, allowed the servant to pour her a glass of wine, and she looked off to the flowers, pretending to study them while her grandmother decided how she was going to open the conversation.

Finally, her grandmother cleared her throat, "What do you know of the Red Wedding?"

Margaery clenched her teeth, already beyond fed up with where the conversation was going. Her grandmother knew very well what she was doing, beating around the bush for theatrics sake. She pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a frustrated huff.

"Grandmother, that has nothing to do with-"

"It has anything and everything to do with whatever the hell I decide it does," Olenna snapped again, effectively killing whatever Margaery was about to say. "What is the story you know?"

Margaery scrunched her nose, not exactly feeling comfortable speaking about such a brutal event, especially involving the family of the girl she was currently snogging in secret. She felt she was doing a terrible disservice to the girl by not telling Olenna to drop it, but there was no dropping it. Not with Olenna.

"It was a massacre," she said quietly, "A massacre resulting in the death of Robb Stark and his mother, Catlyn Stark."

"Among others, yes," her grandmother said promptly, impatience still evident in her voice, "Everyone knows it was a massacre silly girl, do you know why?"

Margaery scoffed, "Well, everyone knows why. Robb broke the marriage pact with the Freys."

"Allowing Walder Frey to throw honor out the window, yes," Olenna hummed. "I suppose you can see the importance of honoring ones marriage vows. Do you know, who might've benefited most from such a massacre, after all, such an event has the potential to change the tides of war, don't you think?"

Margaery was becoming increasingly confused as the conversation wore on, as the answer was fairly obvious.

"Why, the Lannisters, of course. Robb was leading his army to take Casterly Rock," she stated obviously, reaching the end of her rope with Olenna's dramatic buildup. She knew her grandmother wouldn't be asking if she wasn't going anywhere with this.

"Yes, the Lannisters," Olenna said thoughtfully, "of course, it was a good time to strike Robb where it hurt. Why even allow him to get to Casterly Rock in the first place? He already had the key to the North right _here_."

Sansa. Her blood ran cold as she realized the conversation was leading towards that of her new interest, and she prayed to the Seven that she were wrong.

"Grandmother?" she said weakly, the fear wavering in her voice, her eyes pleading with her grandmother not to say it, not to even think of it, for it would make it so.

Olenna took a long sip of wine, refusing to meet Margaery's eyes. Instead, she looked in the direction that Loras had stormed off in, a look of despair resting upon her face and she knew whatever it was that set Loras off had clearly affected her grandmother too.

"Sansa Stark will not be marrying Loras."

And now her blood was ice, the words echoing around in her head, and the resulting ache began to intensify. Her lower lip trembled as she released a breath she hadn't realized she were holding, blinking away the black edges that threatened her vision.

"W-who…?" She murmured in a small voice, already fearing the answer. Tywin Lannister wanted Sansa Stark, to secure his family the North. Of course this was already an obvious obstacle they had thought of before, hence why they kept this to themselves until Margaery was crowned Queen, but someone had been in Tywin's ear.

"I guess we have Lord Baelish to thank for this catastrophic screw up," Olenna said angrily, "And unfortunately, that is not the end of our troubles."

Margaery knew there would be more, knew there had to be something to explain Loras' outburst she witnessed. She wanted her grandmother to stop talking, afraid of what more she will hear.

Olenna sighed, suddenly looking much older than she was. It made Margaery's heart hurt, seeing her family caused such pain, and she wished they had never came to Kings Landing. This place sucked the life out of all those who allow themselves to be dragged down in the game, and it looks as though the Tyrells have became the Capitols latest victim.

"Loras will be wed to Cersei, and Sansa will be wed to Tyrion, securing Tywin's hold on both the North and the South in one fell swoop."

Margaery swayed where she sat; her words washing over her like a dark storm cloud, chilling her to her core, the crashing in her head was almost dizzying. She almost heaved, instead swallowing the large lump that had formed in the back of her throat. She tried to look at her grandmother, but her vision was far too blurred. She reached blindly for the table to assist her to a standing on shaky legs, and she was mumbling something, but she couldn't hear through all the noise.

"I…I have to tell her," she gasped, unaware that her legs were already carrying her in the direction of The Keep.

"You're too late," her grandmother called, freezing her in her tracks, "I imagine Lord Tyrion is already breaking the news to her now."

Margaery's hands came to her face, digging her nails into her scalp as she desperately tried to figure out a way to right this. But she came up empty handed. This was out of her control, even if she were Queen, Tywin Lannister gets what he wants, and if House Tyrell were to defy him it would not be taken in good faith. It could very well cost them their heads.

"I suggest you end whatever silly thing is going on between the two of you, as well."

Margaery stiffened, willing herself to turn around and face Olenna. Gods, of course she knew, Margaery was foolish to think this would go unnoticed by her grandmother. While they were careful, Olenna no doubt noticed Margaery's shift in attitude, even Elinor had noticed. She was such a hopeless fool. And here she was, acting the way she did at the news, it would take an idiot not to see that Sansa clearly meant more than just a friend or a confidante.

"I would have thought you smarter than this, Margaery." Her grandmother's words were scathing disappointment, and it hurt Margaery more than she thought it would.

"You don't understand…" she pleaded weakly, allowing the tears to come now, no longer caring now that her grandmother was already upset with her anyway.

"You think I don't understand?" Olenna said harshly, setting down her wine and crossing her arms. "I've seen more than just the short time you've been alive, dear granddaughter. I've experienced things I cannot have."

Margaery knew she was right, Gods be damned, but she couldn't leave Sansa like this. Worse, she couldn't have Sansa believe she had a hand in this. Perhaps her grandmother had been where she was, once, had an exhilarating affair in her youth and tasted the rush of young, forbidden love. But she didn't know Sansa like Margaery did, and Margaery knew Sansa would not survive this.

"You don't know what this will do to her," she breathed, unable to keep the emotion out of her voice. Unable to hide how much the Stark girl meant to her.

Her grandmother harrumphed, swirling her goblet as she looked to the Keep, her eyes narrowing with contempt.

"Well, my dear, it seems it is no longer our problem."


	9. Chapter 9

**_Sansa_ **

Shae slipped the gown over her shoulders, tightening the waist slightly to add the illusion of what it might look like had it been fastened all the way. Sansa was still unsure of the gown, as she had been with all the others Shae had offered her.

"Do you think people will like it?" she was really asking more if Margaery would like it, though Shae didn't have to know that. Once what looked like a bleak affair now had a silver lining, for while Margaery said her vows to a man she didn't love, she would be thinking of Sansa, and that brought her more comfort than it should.

She still wasn't sure what it was that they shared, she found herself struggling to put a name to it. She supposed it didn't matter, not truly. Whatever it was had given her a new light in her otherwise dark world, and she found herself addicted to this new life that had fallen into her lap.

"I don't think they will even notice it," Shae drawled, clearly bored with Sansa's inability to choose.

"You're right, it's not my wedding," she said, smiling. Her heart soared when she thought about sailing away from Kings Landing, far from the Lannisters, far from her father's gnarled head that loomed over her, reminding her of all the mistakes she has made. She could never truly forget, but perhaps, she could salvage this life of hers and really make it count.

Margaery's wedding was in but a week, and then she would be free of this place.

"Anyway, from what I can tell the dressmakers in Highgarden will be far superior to the ones in Kings Landing. They'd never make me anything as dull as this for my wedding," she said, crinkling her nose at the gown. It's true, she despised the colors of Kings Landing, everything was blood red and gold and screamed for attention in the worst kind of way. Unless part of the royal family, everyone else's gown was dull and bland, as to not draw focus from those who truly matter. "Loras likes green and gold brocade," she supposed marrying a gay was a small price to pay.

Her face warmed as the thought bitterly crossed her mind, as she remembered what she was doing with Margaery was the same thing, and she wondered what the Gods thought of her now.

"I'm sure he does," Shae replied strangely as she helped Sansa out of the dress, and Sansa had a feeling Shae might know more than she let on.

The door opened abruptly before Sansa could think much more on it, startling her to cover up with the gown in haste. She turned to accost whoever barged in as such, and she found a breathless handmaiden.

"Lady Sansa, Lord Tyrion to see you."

Sansa exchanged strange looks with Shae. It was odd, that Lord Tyrion would want to talk to her about anything. They would stop and exchange pleasantries in the hall, sure, especially after he showed her kindness in the throne room when he covered her. That did not dissuade her from the fact that he was still a Lannister, and they had absolutely nothing to talk about. He must have known this, for he never approached her before.

"Good afternoon, Lord Tyrion," she said politely as he stepped into view. He wore a black doublet altered to fit his deformed body, and his shaggy hair did nothing to hide the scar he gained at the Battle of Blackwater. He looked terribly out of place, almost downright uncomfortable. His eyes were landing anywhere but Sansa, and he kept looking over his shoulder as though he were afraid something was going to jump out at him. "I was just trying on a gown for King Joffrey's wedding."

His hands twitched at his sides, "yes, it should be quite a wedding."

He looked as though he were dreading the conversation, and Sansa knew what a fine mask Tyrion Lannister had. So she wondered why, of all times, did he look so nervous now? Sansa's own nerves were suddenly put on edge, and the feeling that had been gnawing at her center since he arrived only grew.

"I need to speak with you, Lady Sansa."

He still wasn't looking at her, and it made Sansa want to scream. To grab the little imp and smack him senseless until he told her, because the way he was looking at Shae, instead of at her, had her blood boiling. She looked to her handmaiden, trying to gauge her reaction, to see what sort of secret communication was going on between them.

But Shae just looked…disappointed.

"Alone, if I may."

But Sansa did not want to be alone with him, Shae must have known this for she spoke for her, surprising Sansa with her abrasiveness towards the Lord, "why do you need to speak to her alone?" she demanded.

"Shae!" Sansa scolded, in fear that she would lose the only other friend she had to the Lannisters, "please excuse her, Lord Tyrion, she's not from here. But I trust her, even though she tells me not to." She tried to give what she thought was a reassuring look to Shae, but she definitely wasn't buying it.

Tyrion finally glanced her way, though the moment was short lived, "sometimes, we think we want to hear something, and it's only afterwards when it's too late, that we realize we wished we'd heard it under entirely different circumstances." Something in his words shook Sansa's confidence, though she tried to remain stoic despite her anxieties.

"Its fine, really," she said evenly, not wanting to give him this satisfaction.

She forced herself to keep her eyes to Tyrion, a million things running through her mind that could possibly explain his behavior. Perhaps her sister was found, and met a fate worse than death, and the pit in her stomach grew to the point where it almost swallowed her whole.

"Lady Sansa," he began, his voice deathly quiet, as though he were trying to soothe a child, "My Lord father has…caught wind, of your arrangement with House Tyrell."

He let the words sink in, and they sink they did. Sansa felt her heart damn near leap out of her chest, and she wondered wildly if she could push past him, how far she could get out of the Keep before they caught her.

They were going to have her head.

"You won't be marrying Loras Tyrell, my lady. You'll, uh, be marrying me."

 _That_ she was not expecting.

Thank the Gods Shae had been beside her or else she would've dropped to the floor. She buckled, Shae's arm flying to her own to steady her as the air was sucked out of her lungs and her vision faded as though she were looking through fog. The hole in her stomach grew insurmountable, until it was no longer within her control, and she heaved violently as Shae pulled her to the nearest chamber pot.

" _Get out!_ " She heard Shae hiss, presumably to Tyrion, for she heard his retreating footsteps and the door swing shut soon after.

She emptied what little contents she had into the chamber pot until her throat was burning and there was nothing left to give. Her mind was reeling, her body kicked into survival mode without even realizing it. She had broken out in a cold sweat, heaving on the air desperate to breath as though she were suffocating.

"B-Baelish," she gasped out, her hand clawing out for Shae's to help her up. There was only one thought on her mind now, and that was getting out of here. If she didn't, she would be a Lannister. A Lannister through marriage with an imp. She gagged again, as Shae stood her up, her face creased with worry.

"Sansa-"

"I have to find Lord Baelish!" she damn near screamed as she was filled with a new rush of adrenaline, she pushed from the floor and allowed her feet to carry her. She didn't know where he was, but she knew who would, and she ran for the brothel.

Shae was running with her, not making any effort to stop her, despite the strange looks they were getting around them. This was Sansa's only chance, if she didn't find Baelish soon, she would remain in Kings Landing until her death, which she was sure would follow soon after she birthed a Lannister babe.

Her feet pounded on the pavement, the sound filling her ears matching her heartbeat that thudded deafeningly. The world around her blurred past, and she vaguely thought of Margaery. Did she know this would happen? Did she purposely withhold this information from her, and if she did, what purpose did it serve?

None of that mattered now. The only thing that mattered was finding Baelish, and getting the hell out of her before her life was stolen completely.

They reached the battlements, the air was colder up there, despite Kings Landing's sweltering temperatures the wind bit at her exposed flesh in her loose gown, and she found it hard to breathe as the earth slowed down around her.

Out to sea, she saw it. Her only means for escape.

His ship, unmistakably, was sailing away without her on it.

And he knew. He knew she would receive this news today. He knew because he sealed her fate for her. Perhaps it was because she took too long, amongst other reasons that only Petyr Baelish knew, and now she was paying for it. Regardless of what his reasons were, she had started with two options to leave this place, and she would remain with none.

This time she did collapse, allowing her legs to give out from under her as she crumpled to the pavement, utterly broken. She did not cry when Tyrion told her, probably due to the adrenaline surging through her veins, her flight response reacting violently, moving only because she was purely driven by the prospect of her last option.

Which was currently sailing away.

Now she had nothing.

"Sansa," Shae was uttering desperately as she came to cradle her. Sansa had almost forgotten she was there. "Sansa, I will speak to him, he will not hurt you."

And while Sansa wanted to fire back at her, demand to know what possible sway she could have with Lord Tyrion, she couldn't find the words. Or perhaps she just couldn't choke them out beyond the stone in her throat.

She gasped as her body was attacked with horrible, wracking sobs, stabbing through her chest like a dagger, as though her heart were literally breaking. She no longer had a will to go on, not even from the spot she lay now.

"My lady, let me take you back to your chambers," Shae said, no doubt looking around for any passersby, "if one of Joffrey's guards sees you…"

She needn't finished her sentence. The thought of Joffrey finding out about her like this was enough to make her move, to pathetically push herself from the dirtied ground and allow Shae to escort her back to her chambers where she may cry freely. Joffrey thrived on the pain of others, and nothing would delight him more than to see Sansa like this. He would drop everything in hand as soon as he returned. He was sure to find her later, to rub the betrothal in her face, she just had to pray he would leave it at that.

When the door closed behind her all she could do was collapse on her bed, letting the gown fall to the floor before she did so. Shae mumbled something about going to fetch her some wine, for which Sansa was thankful. She was right all along, being a Lannister really did drive you to the bottle.

She wasn't sure how long she had laid there, wishing the bed would swallow her up into a sweet death, before Shae came back and stood expectantly at the door.

"Lady Margaery has requested your presence in the garden, as soon as you're able."

Margaery. Of course she would be looking for her, though Sansa wasn't sure she could face her just now. It seemed since her arrival Sansa was constantly getting off on the wrong foot with the woman, and she was growing tired of Margaery seeing her weak. Besides, there was nothing even Margaery could do about this.

Then again, she had to know.

She willed herself off the bed, feeling terribly exhausted and probably looking so, too. Shae moved without a word, picking out a warmer evening gown and began to help Sansa dress. They said nothing, the tension hanging in the air around them said enough, and Sansa was glad that she could trust Shae to remain silent in her grief. She fixed her hair delicately, giving Sansa a more Northern hairstyle. Normally, she would protest, but found she longer cared. If this was the last remains of her as a Stark, she might as well enjoy it while she could.

The short walk to the gardens was terrifying for Sansa. Part of her yearned to see Margaery, to run into her embrace, the only solace she had in this place and now, perhaps the only one she will ever know. The other half was nervous, that Margaery might have somehow duped her, might have had a hand in this final decision. She tried to tell herself it couldn't be.

Her heart skipped when she saw her, standing under the alcove. She was alone, thankfully, no doubt she must have threatened the guards to get them to leave. She was standing, _pacing_ even, looking ever bit as nervous as Sansa felt, though without the despair.

"You may go," she said to Shae, who looked like she wanted to protest, "And, thank you Shae."

Her handmaiden looked unsure, but said nothing, she knew very well how much Sansa needed this. She left silently, giving a final look to Margaery, who had just turned and noticed their presence.

Sansa froze in place, not too far from her now, her once gathered resolve breaking once more, and she couldn't hold the dam of tears behind it. Especially not with the way Margaery was reaching for her, her eyes shining with such emotion.

"Tell me you didn't know. Tell me," she tried her best to keep her voice even, though it came out wavering and thick with emotion. She needed Margaery to say it.

Margaery blinked, before a look of horrified understanding came over her, and Sansa couldn't ignore the guilt that stabbed at her gut, loathing herself for not giving the Tyrell more credit. She was the only person who could help Sansa now, and she shouldn't burn her bridges with her paranoia.

"Sweet girl," Margaery breathed, reaching tentatively for Sansa, "I didn't know, I swear it."

And Sansa let Margaery embrace her, where the tears flowed fresh, but it was okay because she felt safe to do so here. Margaery, being elder than her, somehow made her feel safe, as though there was a shred of possibility that she could get through this, so long as she had her.

She let Margaery plant kisses on her face, despite it being wet with her tears. Margaery didn't seen to mind as she caressed Sansa's back, offering her all of the comfort she had been denied for so long. It was like a soothing balm coming over her, healing her wounds all at once, and she felt her heart beginning to slow to a normal pace, though the dread still remained.

"Oh Sansa," Margaery murmured into her hair, running her fingers through her locks lovingly, like a mother would do, and it made Sansa's heart clench, "My sweet girl, what have they done to you?"

Margaery's voice sounded more broken than Sansa had expected, and threatened to bring on another wave of tears. Instead she spoke, desperate for someone to hear her through this, it was all she had left now.

"Growing up at Winterfell, all I ever wanted was to escape," she said bitterly, looking to the horizon which was now blood red, Lannister red, and despite how much the words hurt once she started she couldn't stop, "To come here, to the Capitol. To see the southern knights and their painted armor, and Kings Landing after dark. All the candles burning in all those windows."

Her voice began to waver again, recalling all those memories of her being a foolish girl with eyes too bright, too enamored with fairy tails of knights and princesses, of elaborate balls and a loving husband. Saying it aloud, she was shocked that she could have ever believed it so hard in the first place.

"I'm stupid," she broke then, taking her head in her hands, the realization that she had feared all along. That she was a stupid, clueless little girl, and she would die for it, "a stupid little girl with stupid dreams who never learns."

"Come on," Margaery said gently, leading Sansa along with her. Sansa didn't feel much like walking, but less than she felt like arguing, so she allowed it.

"We have one more night before Joffrey returns, I'd like you to stay with me."

Sansa felt her face heat up, spreading to her chest and she suddenly found it very warm. Though she wasn't opposed to the idea not even a little, not even at all. She didn't want to be alone tonight, with her thoughts of what her life has become. On the other hand, she didn't want to burden the older girl either.

"I don't w-want to trouble y-"

"No, Sansa. Tonight you stay with me. I insist, little wolf."

Sansa couldn't know when their dynamic had shifted, it happened so quickly. When the thought of giving her up crossed her mind, she knew it was something she no longer would do. She needed her now, and even if it was the result of her new betrothal, she didn't care to think on it too much. Margaery wanted her, and Sansa would comply.

"I remember the first time I saw you in the throne room," Margaery started, bringing Sansa back from her own head, her voice melodic and almost mesmerizing, "I'd never seen anyone that looked so unhappy. I wanted very much for you to be happy Sansa." They stopped at the edge of the garden, while Margaery leaned over and picked the most gorgeous yellow rose, with fiery orange accents, the petals utterly perfect. "But women in our position must make the best of our circumstances."

It suddenly occurred to Sansa, that Margaery had never wanted this either. She had wanted to be Queen, she truly had the ambition to, but when she found out it was to Joffrey, she deemed the cost too great. Her father had seen to it that she would have no choice in the matter, and now she was doomed to spend her life with a psychopath. The psychopath that Sansa was supposed to marry.

"How do I make the best of my circumstances, when I have to marry _him_?" Sansa pleaded, knowing very well that it could be worse, that it could be Joffrey, but the comparison brought her no comfort.

Margaery held the rose to her, and she felt a blush warm her cheeks as her heart skipped as she took it. It was a marvel that Margaery still had such an effect on her despite her current situation.

"You will have me," Margaery whispered, and for a second Sansa just wanted to believe it was enough. "You'll remain in Kings Landing, with me, and so long as I shall live nothing will harm you. You have my word. And we will always have us," she said the last part even quieter, as though she were afraid to say it, and Sansa didn't want her to be afraid. She looked around to ensure they will still alone, before nuzzling into Margaery's neck, giving her a soft kiss on her pulse.

Margaery chuckled as she leaned into the touch, enjoying Sansa's display of affection. They continued on their way towards the Keep, close enough their shoulders were touching

"Does Tyrion mistreat you?" Margaery continued.

"No," she murmured, truthfully.

"Has he been kind to you?"

"He's tried," she sighed, knowing that Margaery was just trying to see the positives. But Sansa wasn't so upset that she would be married to the Imp as she was that she would be remaining in Kings Landing. One other upside, Cersei would be leaving, at the very least. "But he's a Lannister," she pointed out, as though that alone were enough to make a bad husband. In her mind, it was.

"He's far from the worst one, wouldn't you say?" Margaery tried, and Sansa relented. Margaery was right, she was every bit the collected woman that Sansa could ever hope to be, and her situation was far more dangerous than Sansa's was. She was pretty sure Tyrion would never raise a hand to her, the same could not be said about Joffrey.

"I'm sorry," Sansa sniffled, the exhaustion creeping in worse than before, "here I am complaining to you-"

She was at a loss for words, suddenly feeling very inferior to the older woman. Margaery squeezed her arm in a comforting way, smiling warmly at her regardless.

"My son will be king," Margaery said, changing the subject, though Sansa wondered why Margaery brought it up at all. It wasn't lost on Sansa that Margaery said 'her' son, and left Joffrey out of it. "Sons learn from their mothers, and I plan to teach mine a great deal."

The statement made Sansa shudder slightly, thinking of how much more she preferred the giggling, blushing Margaery rather than the conniving, political one. It was jarring, to say the least, and she found herself receding back into being wary of the Tyrell once again.

"And your son, if I'm not mistaken, your son might be the Lord of Casterly Rock, _and_ the North someday," she finished, giving Sansa a knowing smile. She had her point, but-

"My son," she said slowly, horror dawning on her, "with him?!"

"Sansa," she soothed, glancing around them now that they were in the halls, "I know it's not ideal, but you'll have me," Margaery's hand wandered low on her waist, caressing the top of her rear, causing goosebumps to break out over her, the longing back and strong in the pit of her stomach. "Think of me, and know that when it's over, you will come back to me."

It was convincing, convincing enough for Sansa to almost believe her, though the thought of Tyrion's pudgy, misshapen hands caressing her in her most intimate places was still enough to make her sick.

"I'll have to-we'll have to-" Sansa stuttered, feeling terribly embarrassed.

"If it's the pain you're worried about-"

"I'm not afraid of the pain," Sansa said sharply, a little too much so, for Margaery looked quite saddened by Sansa's statement, "not after what Joffrey's done to me."

She wanted Margaery to take it as a warning, that perhaps she couldn't control Joffrey as well as she thought, that he could snap at any moment and anyone within arms reach of him would probably end up with their throat slit, including her.

But Margaery just looked saddened all the same, as though Sansa were the victim. Of course she did, everyone looked at Sansa as though she were the victim.

"What is it then?" Margaery asked softly. They had reached her chambers, and she held the door open for Sansa as she stepped tentatively over the threshold. Margaery's handmaiden had been waiting for her their, but Margaery quickly dismissed her, and Sansa could've swore she saw a knowing look between the women.

Sansa looked to Margaery as though it were obvious. Tyrion Lannister wasn't exactly the type of man you heard about in ballads.

"I understand, he is a dwarf. And he isnt at all what a women would want for a husband," Margaery whispered, approaching Sansa now that they were alone. The way she moved was alluring, and Sansa couldn't help but be drawn to her, almost willing the conversation to be over so she could kiss her instead.

"But you must make the best of your situation, or else you'll go mad." She whispered, a hint of finality to her voice, but it was all right because her fingers were running up Sansa's jawbone, snaking to the back of her head, and her nails felt like fire, trailing down her scalp slowly and methodically.

Her mouth ran dry, finding it very difficult to think with Margaery standing so close to her. She wet her mouth nervously, eager for Margaery to lean in to her, to taste her lips as though they were the answer to all of her troubles.

"I've n-never been with a woman," Sansa stuttered, aware that this wasn't the first time bringing this up, but as their heated exchanges grew with intensity over time, Sansa was beginning to fear her inexperience could have the potential to drive Margaery away.

"Hush, dear Sansa, my strong, powerful wolf," Margaery cooed in her ear, and while Sansa was sure that Margaery was just humoring her, she flushed at the use of the nickname nonetheless. "We needn't do anything so far tonight. Just let me hold you and enjoy this."

Her hands roamed down Sansa shoulders, causing a shudder to run through her. She glanced at Margaery and was met with a coy smile, as though she wanted Sansa as much as Sansa wanted her. It made her stomach flip in a delightful sort of way.

"I've been with women, in Highgarden," she continued, though Sansa found it hard to pay attention to her words as her hands explored the length of her body, "and maybe one day, I'll have the opportunity to show you too."

Sansa thought she was ready, especially after the news of her betrothal, she had a creeping sense that life was too short. But she wouldn't argue with Margaery on the matter. Sansa was utterly hopeless when it came to knowing what was best for herself, so she figured she should leave that to Margaery, too.

"You don't think…the Gods, do they care what we are doing?" she asked dumbly. She really hated to kill the mood with talk of faith, but it had been something weighing on Sansa's mind since their first kiss. Sansa already doomed her own life, she didn't need to go screwing up her after life too.

Margaery blinked, before humming and turning away from Sansa, much to her dismay. She went to her wardrobe and began to sift through the drawers.

"I don't believe the Gods mind that we find our happiness outside the beasts of man. Rather, I think they prefer it over losing our sanity. I think what we have is wonderful, and I believe the Gods are happy for us."

Sansa wasn't sure if she could consider that correct, and that perhaps Margaery was merely trying to quell her feelings on the matter, but if it didn't bother Margaery then Sansa wouldn't let it bother her. Gods be damned, it's not like they have done much for Sansa lately anyway.

Margaery turned, a bundle of small clothes in her arms. Sansa heart stuttered with the stark realization that Margaery expected her to change in front of her. Her fears must have shown on her face, for Margaery chuckled musically before pressing the bundle into her arms.

"Worry not, sweet girl, we are both women here."

Her words brought her some relief, and she began to slowly shed the loose fitting gown she had been trying on for Joffrey's wedding. It felt as though it were heavier than it actually were, now.

She dared to glance at Margaery, unable to avert her eyes any longer, and what she saw nearly made her thighs wet again. Sansa had seen women change before and thought nothing of it, but now that she had this new experience with Margaery, she really started to appreciate the female body for what it was.

Her back was to her, as she shrugged her gown in one flourish, the fabric pooling at her waist forgotten. Her back was a milky white, and Sansa could see the little freckles that dotted her skin, and she had the sudden urge to count them all. She turned slightly, she could almost see the outline of her breast.

"I see I've got someone's attention," Margaery laughed, her smile mischievous as her voice knocked Sansa from her daze. Her face burned like a thousand suns as she averted her eyes again, scolding herself internally for getting caught. She hastily pulled her own shirt over her head, hoping her face would emerge it's normal color once she was through.

"Its alright Sansa," she dared look back up, as she felt Margaery's hand cup her chin, forcing her gaze, "you're allowed to look."

Sansa swallowed hard, her trembling hands reaching for Margaery's shoulders, as though holding on to her would ground her before she lifted away. Margaery's own hands wrapped around her, pulling her flush against her body, and Sansa was acutely aware of the feel of Margaery's breasts against her own.

"You have a beautiful body, little wolf," Margaery whispered, tickling her ear wonderfully. "Come to bed, let me hold you," she almost begged, her eyes pleading with Sansa's, but all Sansa could focus on were her full lips and the feel of her warm mounds.

She followed Margaery to the bed, which was much larger than her own, but Sansa knew this, as they used to be her own chambers when she was betrothed to Joffrey. Margaery lifted back the silk sheets, and Sansa was hit with another wave of exhaustion, saddened by this as she wished to enjoy as much time as she could with the future Queen.

Her heart thrummed when Margaery pulled her down to her, giggling as the collapsed in the mess of the sheets. Sansa was now atop Margaery, and Gods she looked so beautiful lying there, her chestnut waves fanned on the bed and a light blush dusting her cheeks.

"Kiss me, Sansa," she murmured, pulling Sansa to her by the collar not waiting for a reply. Sansa happily complied, pressing her lips to Margaery's own, the kiss desperate and needy. She heard the moan deep in the back of her throat, though she no longer cared if Margaery heard her, besides, it seemed to please Margaery whenever Sansa let out a noise in pleasure.

Margaery let out a sigh of her own into Sansa's parted lips, and she surged forth, filling her mouth with Margaery's sweet tongue which lapped delicately at the insides of her cheeks. She tilted her head, trying to gain better access to the warm envelopment that was Margaery's soft mouth, not caring that their teeth clacked together in the heat of the moment.

Margaery's hands, which had been clutching Sansa's back since she pulled her down, now began to wander lower, before stopping at Sansa's rear to give her cheeks a firm squeeze. The feeling was delightful, and the wetness at the apex of her legs was threatening to spill forth. Margaery's nipples were hardening, Sansa could feel them, straining against her own fabric of her shirt, and the sensation sent a wave of arousal flooding through her as she felt the dam break between her legs.

She parted from the kiss, struggling to fill her lungs back with air, and it was all she could gasp out,

"Margaery…" she panted, her lips swollen from the kiss, noting that Margaery's were too, "S-somethings happening…"

She backed off of Margaery slightly, opting to lay on her side as she climbed off, facing Margaery. Margaery propped herself on an elbow, gazing down at Sansa's flushed face as a look of understanding came over her. She ran a finger down Sansa's neck, ever so lightly, before trailing it between her breasts. Sansa shuddered, her eyes slipping closed for a moment.

"Do not worry about that, sweet girl. It's normal, it's your arousal," her voice was soft and caring, almost enough to lull Sansa to sleep.

"Do you have it, too?" Sansa asked, wanting to know if Margaery felt it too, or if Sansa's inexperienced womanhood was simply going haywire.

The older girl smiled, bringing her hand back up, leaving it to rest on Sansa's cheek, "only with you," she said sincerely, and Sansa felt her body breakout in a full blush, unable to keep the smile from her face. She felt a strange sense of pride that Margaery was wet for her too, that it wasn't just one sided.

Margaery leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Sansa's forehead, her nose, before finally lingering on her lips in a deep, full kiss, and Sansa thought she may never grow tired of Margaery's lips on hers. Margaery pulled her to her, until Sansa's face was buried in her chest, with Margaery's chin resting on her head. Exhaustion came over her completely now, wrapped safely in Margaery's arms. It was a dangerous game the two of them were playing. Sansa felt a different feeling creeping into her chest when she thought of Joffrey returning, making it so they could no longer do this, and she thought of him holding Margaery the way she was now, and she realized the creeping feeling was cold, ugly jealousy.

She swallowed, trying not to think much more on the matter too much. She had no right to jealousy, for Margaery wasn't hers.

Sweet Margaery, who held her like a babe, who understood Sansa like no other, who deserved a husband who would love her, not someone like Joffrey.

Margaery ran her fingers softly through her hair, cradling her ever closer, as though she didn't want to let this go as much as Sansa.

"Sleep well, little wolf. I will be here when you wake."

It was the only comfort Sansa had, now.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Margaery_ **

Joffrey's return had Margaery on edge; it had been but an hour ago where she and Sansa departed, but she already found herself missing the Stark girls presence. Sansa always soothed her nerves, while Joffrey only managed to spike them. Still, as a dutiful partner would, she awaited on the steps of the Keep for her dear husband to be, watching as the outline of his convoy became visible in the horizon.

With five nights until their wedding, Margaery had little time to ensure she would even be able to control the boy and his twisted urges. She had been slightly annoyed of his leaving for this hunt, which made her incapable of doing just that, despite having a full week with Sansa without Joffrey's presence looming over them.

And then there was the matter of Sansa's marriage. Margaery was dreading it for the poor girl, and there was no word yet as to when it was to occur, though Margaery assumed it would be rushed before her own, to ensure she as Queen would be left without any pull in the matter. Lord Tywin had covered his bases, which left them with nothing left to do but adapt.

She clenches her fists-both of them-until her nails dug in her palm, almost uncomfortably, but she found the pain soothing. It was an unhealthy distraction from what awaited her, when she could not have Sansa with her to distract her instead. Besides, Sansa had enough of her own worries, and Margaery had assured her she would be fine with Joffrey. She didn't let on just how afraid she was of the King, too.

Cersei stood next to her, looking as calm and collected as she always did. Unsurprisingly, Cersei had left her alone the entire time Joffrey was gone. Apparently she was only concerned about Margaery when she was in her precious little boys ear, threatening to steal him away from her clutches.

Cersei side eyed her, her hand plastered to that damned wine goblet as it always was. It wasn't even noon and Cersei was already drunk, and Margaery could see that she obviously wasn't taking the news of Highgarden well.

"You must be happy to see the King's return," Cersei sneered, not bothering whatsoever to hide the contempt in her voice.

Margaery knew she shouldn't say it, knew that she had nothing to gain other than petty satisfaction, but she was in no mood for Cersei's bullshit. If her aim was to get under Margaery's skin, Margaery would show her just how petty she could be.

"I am truly happy, Your Grace," not for long, Margaery thought, "just as you must be thrilled of the news that you'll be leaving for Highgarden with my dear brother. You're going to love it there, I know it."

She knew it hurt by the way Cersei's jaw visibly tightened, a vein popping in her forehead and all. It was satisfying, watching this affect Cersei the way it was, almost on the brink of downright entertaining. She also knew this was probably something she shouldn't have started, something that could very well come back to bite her, even with Cersei in Highgarden. The woman had eyes everywhere, very akin to Littlefinger, who had very recently ruined Sansa's life as well.

Cersei leaned forward towards Margaery slightly, so close that she could smell the wine upon her breath, "I'm sure your brother must be as well."

As she tried not to let the chill run up her spine, on the outside she remained steadfast with perfect composure. Though Cersei's words had no merit yet, she wouldn't put it past the woman to have a backup plan of sorts in order to avoid her relocation to Highgarden. She couldn't help but wonder where Loras was now, and made it a priority to find him as soon as she was able. She had to know he was being careful.

"Yes, I imagine he is." She was treading on thin ice, having it out with the woman like that, but if Margaery was to be Queen, she could not show weakness.

She never thought she'd be so relieved to see Joffrey riding up over the hills, her only savior from her current conversation. His golden cloak dazzled in the sunlight, as though he were a beacon and not a man, and even from where she stood she could see his wide grin.

"My lady!" he called excitedly as he leapt from his saddle. He sidled up to her, his arm taking her waist possessively, squeezing so hard it almost hurt. He leaned forward, and she took his lips with extra vigor reserved just for Cersei. When they parted, she saw the smile had frozen to her face.

"Hello, mother," Joffrey said rather indifferently, and Margaery took delight in the brief look of panic that crossed the woman's face at her sons greeting.

She didn't miss the cutting look Cersei sent her way, before smiling adoringly at Joffrey, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder, "How was your hunt, my dear son?"

He sniffed, "it was spectacular. I took down a mother boar on the morning of the third day. The damn thing nearly gutted me until I speared it with my sword," he beamed proudly, though Margaery could've sworn she saw some of his men exchange incredulous looks. Margaery knew better than to believe that Joffrey could spear anything other than a helpless wash girl.

He looked at Margaery then, his eyes gleaming, "come with me to my chambers, my lady, I'm sure you have missed me, yes?"

"More than anything, my King, it's been incredibly dull without you," she took his extended arm and let him lead her to the keep, her hopes higher than before. He seemed to be in a good mood, perhaps the hunt was good for him. He certainly seemed to be as in love with Margaery as ever.

"Ah! But it couldn't have been all that dull my lady," he said with a mischievous smirk, his eyes suddenly dark. Margaery knew she had clearly underestimated him already, and he had barely been here five minutes, "I hear Lady Sansa has been betrothed to my uncle!" he laughed maniacally at this, as though it were a dream come true. She wondered dubiously if he was aware of his mothers betrothal to Loras. Surely this wouldn't be something he would agree to, not like he had a choice with Lord Tywin, even if he was King. As horrible as Joffrey was to his mother, everyone knew how he still suckled her like a babe, her years of smothering the boy had now developed into an unhealthy dynamic between them.

She desperately wanted to steer the conversation from Sansa, she knew of Joffrey's bordering obsession with the girl, how he loved to torment her, and her marriage to Lord Tyrion was only going to amplify the problem. If Tyrion thought he could provide the girl with any protection, he clearly didn't know his own nephew.

"We must go see her, I want to see her face when I tell her she's going to have a deformed babe!" he exclaimed, excited of his new priority. Margaery had to defuse him and fast, and she would do so using her best asset.

"My King," she breathed in his ear, her voice as wanton as she could make it, "surely, we could think of something more…entertaining, than that of Lady Sansa?" they stopped walking, Margaery using the opportunity to press herself close to him, she brought her hand to the back of his neck. "Something I could give you?"

It wasn't the first time she had pleasured Joffrey using her mouth or hands. When she had first arrived he was rather eager to see what Margaery could do in that aspect. Obviously, she had always felt a certain level of disgust when she had to engage in such acts with him, but her nausea seemed to increase since she started sneaking around with Sansa. It was yet another indication of how dangerously reckless her situation was, and Sansa was quickly becoming a wedge in her plans for herself. It was one thing to have a pillow friend, many nobles indulged while behind closed doors, but never with another noble such as Sansa Stark.

And now, if Joffrey hurt Sansa, there's no telling what she would do, face to face with such a daunting choice.

Joffrey's eyes smoldered, though the grin on his face grew cat-like, and she breathed an internal sigh of relief. Successfully swayed, he licked his lips and pressed a rough kiss to her own, his mouth cold and uninviting.

"A wonderful idea, my lady. I suppose that bitch can wait, it's not like she's going anywhere," he laughed at his own jest, and Margaery laughed prettily along with him, as though Sansa's demise was as amusing to her as it was to him. It made her feel sick.

He leaned forward, his hot breath ghosting over her lips before he took them again, this time forcing his tongue greedily into her mouth. She reciprocated, with flawless acting, moaning into the kiss and caressing the muscles on his shoulders.

"Your Grace," came a rough voice behind them, causing Margaery to jump and Joffrey to snap his head in the direction of the sound, his face twisted in a snarl at the interruption.

" _What?!"_ he shouted, his face reddening for a split second before realizing it was his Kingsguard, Sandor Clegane.

The towering Knight snarled back, his scarred misshapen face twisting in disgust, clearly not afraid to express his hatred for the boy. Margaery didn't know much about the man, except that his own brother had mutilated his face when he set him on fire, and he's been an angry brute ever since. Thankfully, he seems to prefer to avoid Joffrey, therefore she seldom saw the man.

"What is it man? Speak," Joffrey said impatiently, giving the knight a once over as though he were trying to intimidate him for Margaery's sake. She and Sandor both had to refrain from rolling their eyes.

Ser Clegane huffed, "You requested that we remind you upon your return, that the prisoner from flea bottom still requires a trial." He said gruffly, clearly unimpressed with Joffrey's attitude.

Margaery blinked, unaware of the situation regarding any 'prisoner'. Her hair stood on end as she watched the exchange between them, knowing what was about to come next as she watched Joffrey's face split into a grin as though he had just reached an epiphany.

He clapped his hands together, "Ah, yes! I had nearly forgotten, tell me, has our guest enjoyed his stay in the black cells?"

Ser Clegane let out another long sigh, his impatience beginning to grow, "He has. What do you want done with him?"

Joffrey waved him off with a gilded hand, "To the throne room, I shall go there now. Inform the small council, I should like everyone in attendance. Lady Margaery," he turned to her and gripped her arm, pulling her towards him. She didn't think he meant it in a menacing way, but she found the action rough all the same, "you shall attend. If you're to be my Queen, you must know how to punish those who dare insult the Crown."

Margaery felt her breath catch, quickly composing herself with a befitting smile, "Your Grace, I'm honored by your request for my company, but I do wonder how much good a woman such as myself-"

"Nonsense," he interrupted, sealing her fate. She knew she could not argue him on this, that the day would come when he would ask her to partake in the cruelty he so loved to unleash. She just hoped she would be able to calm him from an act of tyranny.

"With me, my lady," he said, holding out his arm expectantly, the burning in his eyes left her no room for hesitation. She took it as happily as she could, and they began to walk in the direction of the throne room. Margaery found herself strangely wishing Joffrey had took her up on her offer for pleasure instead.

When they arrived, Lord Tywin had already arrived along with Cersei and Tyrion. The rest of the small council surrounded the throne, including her father, who sent her a tight smile. She did her best to send one back, along with the rest of the council, as to look as though she very much wanted to be there.

She took her seat next to Joffrey, taking note that there were already quite a few faces filing into the room now, a flash of red hair catching her immediate attention. Sansa stood in the back with Shae, looking every bit as beautiful as she did with her hair spread on the bed just that morning. She didn't allow her gaze to linger too long, as to not draw suspicion, but when their eyes did meet she hated how her heart skipped.

She hoped Sansa would remain where she was, would actually prefer that she wasn't here. If Joffrey's attention was drawn to her there was no doubt in her mind that he would seize the opportunity to ridicule her. She had grown to care for Sansa, even if it was more than she would have liked.

"Why hello uncle!" Joffrey bellowed beside her, his voice thrumming painfully in her ear, and she already knew it was too late as Tyrion leaned forward in his seat to meet Joffrey's gaze.

"Welcome back, Your Grace. I trust your hunt was well?" he replied evenly, looking as though he too were bracing himself as much as Margaery was.

"Not as well as yours, I've heard! The Imp and the Lady of Winterfell. Lady Sansa!" Joffrey had already spotted her in the crowd, of course he did, he was probably looking for her since they arrived. The room grew deathly quiet, the trial of the prisoner long forgotten, as all eyes came to rest on Sansa.

"Your Grace," Sansa said softly, dipping into a curtsey. She was looking rather pale, and Margaery wished she could tell her to relax, to remain strong.

"Lady Sansa," Joffrey continued, "You must be deeply saddened to go from marrying me to marrying the Imp. But fear not, perhaps my dear uncle will let me put a Lannister babe in you for him-"

Tyrion's hand slammed on the table as a murmur of shock filled the room, "That's enough. Lady Sansa is to be my wife, and you will not speak ill of her in my presence."

Lord Tywin, who stood just behind Joffrey, leaned forward to whisper something in Joffrey's ear, something that made Joffrey blanche slightly. Tywin's expression could only be described as dangerous, a quite obvious rage barely hidden under his tightened jaw. Joffrey's lip pouted, as petulant as a child, though he waved his jeweled hand and glanced to Tyrion, "Very well, I care not what you do with a traitors daughter. Bring in this degenerate forth to face the Crown!"

Joffrey turned to her suddenly, grasping her arm and leaning in close to whisper, "I did this for you, my Queen."

Her skin crawled at the way he spoke, his words suggesting something dark and disturbing, and she didn't enjoy the way he was looking at her with that same excitement, as though he were giving her a precious gift.

Her eyes were drawn to the sound of chains on stone, and saw one of the Kingsguard bringing up the terrified man. His clothes were nearly reduced to filthy rags, and his appearance was gaunt and dirty. He was a young man, perhaps the age of Loras even, and Margaery couldn't help but feel moved by the utter fear in his eyes.

"You!" Joffrey roared, causing the man to flinch into himself, "Martyn, is it? It's been brought to my attention that you've been caught in a rather compromising situation, scum, is that right?"

"Y-Your Grace-"

"Caught in an abominable act, out in public for the world to see?"

The mans eyes darted around, frantically looking for someone in the hall to save him, though he must have known no one was coming. He began to tremble, before he burst into a fit of tears, " _please_ , Your Grace-"

"This man, was caught committing adultery in the form of _sodomy_ , with another man. Isnt that so you filthy degenerate-"

"Your Grace," Lord Tywin said, his voice low but still loud enough for Margaery to hear, "you do not want to lose the people of Flea Bottom entirely by killing one of their own over a ridiculous personal vendetta," Margaery breathed a small sigh of relief, hoping that Tywin of all people should be able to reign his grandson in.

"I don't care. The man went against the Seven, laying with this man behind his own wife's back. Surely if its punishable by the Gods, it can be punishable by me!"

Tywin looked as though someone had tried to feed him horse shit; the scowl on his face would normally be enough to send Joffrey backpedaling so quickly it was almost hypocritical, but Joffrey was not looking at his grandfather now. Margaery was unsure if he was just starved of bloodlust so long that he was now acting even against his grandfather's advice, or if he was simply spiraling further out of control.

"Now," Joffrey continued, "As King, it is my duty to make an example out of you. If it were up to me, I'd have you strung up on the battlements, alive, until the birds pecked you clean. But it is not up to me," to Margery's own horror, he turned to her with an eager smile, awaiting her answer like a child on its name day, "Lady Margaery, what say you regarding the punishment for this pervert?"

The room was deathly silent, save for Martyn's helpless whimpers that echoed through the stifled air. She suddenly felt very warm and she glanced to her grandmother, who had a knowing look, and Margaery understood her loud and clear. She would have to say something, and unfortunately, it would have to keep Joffrey happy.

"Perhaps, my King, instead of killing the man we could take the very parts no man would wish to part with. After all, most men say it is a fate worse than death."

The terrified man in front of her blanched, and she felt more than a tiny stab of guilt. She was truly trying to save the mans life, though she may have inadvertently made his situation much worse in his eyes. She could live with this, however, it was better than having the mans death on her conscience.

She wasn't entirely sure Joffrey would go for it, and she waited not daring to avert her gaze, instead staring at him as though she was willing him to agree, to see that it was a good idea after all. She was relieved when he broke out in a grin, looking like a cat that got the cream.

"My my…" he drawled, looking at Margaery with unbidden hunger, "you are very fair, Lady Margaery. So be it," he turned to Ser Meryn, who had been standing beside the prisoner dutifully the entire time, "Ser Meryn, bring me his cock!"

_"No, no! NO, YOUR GRACE-!"_

Ser Meryn stepped forward, unsheathing a dagger and reaching for the mans belt. Another member of the Kingsguard had to step forth to hold the screaming man back as he desperate kicked at Ser Meryn's hands. He reached a studded glove hand into the mans loose fitting pants, pulling out his member for all to see.

In one swift motion and with a sickening squelching sound, it was done.

The man screamed and writhed in agony as all the men in the room visibly winced, many of them not so subtly grabbing their own as though they feared the same fate would become of them. Ser Meryn threw his bits to the floor before them with a bloody splat, and Margaery wondered if she made a horrible mistake as the contents of her stomach threatened to come up, but instead she beamed at Joffrey who was laughing himself to tears as he clapped with glee.

"Very impressive, if I do say so Martyn!" Joffrey reveled in the man's screams and pleas to die. His laughter quieted down and he turned to Margaery with a look of satisfaction. Then he looked to the court, to the mangled bits of flesh on the floor, and finally, to Martyn.

"Well? Now his head!" Joffrey shouted, and Margaery tried not to stiffen beside him, saddened by the fact that she wasn't even surprised. He turned to her, "I couldn't resist, my dear," he said with a casual shrug of his shoulders, and Margaery kept smiling that damned smile, assuring him with her lips that all was well, when in fact she was reeling inside.

Ser Meryn unsheathed his sword, now. With the second swift motion of the day, Martyn of Fleabottoms head was removed from his shoulders, quickly hitting the ground with a thud and rolled slightly, his lifeless eyes wide with horror. Blood spurted from the body where it had detached, pooling in a blackened spread beneath the feet of Ser Meryn.

Margaery's heart felt as blackened as that thick pile of blood, and she glanced to her grandmother again, whose expression was now unreadable. _I'm losing him_ , she tried to convey, all whilst maintaining the evened smile on her face, but her grandmother's face remained begrudgingly the same.

Then, her eyes found Sansa's. Hers too, were difficult for Margaery to read, much to her frustration, but if she had to guess Sansa just looked sorry for her. This made her hate herself more.

She wanted to find Loras, but she found he was the most difficult person for her to face, other than herself. This man had just been executed for engaging in the same acts that her own brother did, she knew this must have him feeling some type of horrible way. If there was any good that came out of this, maybe it would just prompt him to be more careful.

She clenched her hands on the wood of her chair and bit the inside of her cheek until she almost drew blood, wishing for the nightmare to be over. Apparently, Joffrey wasn't finished.

"Get the filth off my floor," he said dismissively, as the Kingsguard dragged the body off. "Mount his head outside the gates. I want the smallfolk to see what happens when they dare disrespect the Crown. Now, onto more pleasant matters!"

The grin on his face made Margaery feel like whatever he was about to say would, on the contrary, be very unpleasant. She followed his gaze, which had now landed back on Sansa, and she knew he wasn't going to stop.

"Lady Sansa, I'm so… _excited_ , at the prospect of you marrying my dear uncle, as I'm sure you are too, that I've done you the favor of moving your wedding up tomorrow! You must be very grateful to be displayed such kindness by your King, yes?" Gods, he loved torturing that girl. Sansa remained very impassive, her face not betraying the certain storm raging within her.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Sansa said, her voice even and unwavering. Margaery was proud of her, and she would tell her as soon as she was able, as soon as she could get away. She couldn't believe she was already plotting an escape from her husband to be, when she was supposed to be learning him, keeping his tempers at bay, but she was quickly realizing it was a losing battle.

"Excellent! Now away with all of you, theres preparations to be done I'm sure, Lady Margaery," he turned to her, his eyes darkening just as they had before, and she had a sinking feeling she hadn't escaped their previous engagements either, "now we may go to my chambers, so you can greet your King properly."

Her cheek was now definitely filling with blood.

If the day couldn't get any worse, she was forced to go with Joffrey to his chambers, despite the looming feeling of sicking up. She maintained her composure throughout their departure of the throne room, and the short walk that followed to his chambers. Even when his seed filled her mouth, she smiled lovingly and thanked him for it, and for every moment after, when she walked with shame back to her own chambers, where Elinor was waiting to care for her as she finally emptied her stomach into the nearby chamber pot.

She gasped into the pot as her stomach lurched painfully and her brow broke out in a cold sweat. Her hands were trembling so, and she couldn't stop the hot tears that flowed freely as Elinor held her hair and rubbed soothing circles on her back. Dear Elinor, Margaery's most trusted friend, she knew she could break in front of her, more so than anyone.

A pox on that evil man, her dreadful husband to be. She still saw Martyn's head lolling on the floor, the smell of copper still stinging her nose.

"That's it Margaery, let it out," she soothed, her voice calming on Margaery's pounding ears, "his actions are not your own. You remember that."

Was that the truth? Because right now Margaery felt more a monster than she had ever in her life, and she had certainly done things she wasn't proud of. They didn't do things like this in Highgarden, and she had underestimated just how much such things would affect her. She had been groomed to be as cold and calculating as Cersei if she needed to be, even if that wasn't who she was, and she found it much easier said than done to change her morals at will.

"I-I just…" she stuttered, still finding it difficult to breath. She took an offered handkerchief from Elinor, dabbing her forehead and mouth gratefully, "I didn't want him to die," she whispered.

"I know," Elinor said sadly, unsure of what more she could say.

A knock at the door had her groaning and holding her temples gingerly. She wasn't sure how much more Joffrey she could handle today.

Which was why she was pleasantly relieved when she saw red hair instead of blonde.

"Sansa," she gasped as the Stark girl stepped through the opened door, while Elinor simultaneously slipped out after giving Margaery a knowing look.

She realized she was still kneeling on the floor and made to stand up quickly but Sansa was already there, supporting her by the arm gently. She led her to the bed where they sat down, their hands clasped together, keeping one another anchored.

"Oh, Margaery," Sansa whispered, reaching a careful hand to her temple to brush a stray hair. Margaery's heart clenched, she didn't want Sansa to see her like this.

"I'm fine, Sansa," she said assuredly, adding a smile for effect, "I will be."

Sansa looked very much disbelieving, and she sat a little straighter and leaned in a little closer, and it was clear the woman wasn't about to let it go.

"You don't have to pretend with me, Margaery. Let me help you," she made to cup Margaery's cheek but she winced away, unable to ignore the look of utter rejection on Sansa's face. Margaery deserved that look, but she didn't deserve Sansa's kindness now.

Sansa remained undeterred, and cupped Margaery's cheek anyway, breaking the dam that she had tried so hard to build up, not only for her sake but for Sansa's as well. The first tear fell, but Sansa was there to catch it, and began to plant soothing kisses on Margaery's scorched face, each one more healing than the last.

"Sansa," Margaery cried softly, "I'm so sorry, Gods what you must think of me now."

But Sansa's kisses grew more persistent, and Margaery's cries died on her lips, as Sansa kissed them away with a loving swipe of her tongue, "I think of you as I always have," Sansa whispered, "you're wonderful."

She sounded so sure of herself, Margaery realized, so different from how Sansa usually spoke. It both frightened and exhilarated her.

What was the hardest part for Margaery when they did this together? Was it the inevitable departure, as she would be forced into Joffrey's arms, and Sansa into Tyrion's? Was it the anger at herself, whenever she found herself distracted by the red head when she shouldn't be? It was her fault, she initiated their first contact, because she was weak. Yes, perhaps that was the hardest part, accepting she was weak.

Her urges battled with her pride daily, but Sansa's lips were always able to sway her back in that direction, the direction of the pleasure and the forbidden. Sansa's touches were enough to make responsibility melt away, and she couldn't help but allow it.

"Sansa," she whimpered, as the Stark girl suckled her pulse, gentle as to not leave a mark, "you make…everything so clear, and so fogged, at the same time." She's not sure what tempted her to say that, it was simply what her heart felt like telling. When she was around Sansa her actions sometimes were not her own, akin to when she first kissed the girl.

Sansa pulled back, her eyes boring into Margaery's, and her expression twisting into a deep sadness, "I'm afraid, for tomorrow," she said in a small voice.

Margaery could've kicked herself, allowing Sansa to comfort her when Sansa clearly needed it the most. She didn't have Margaery's thick skin that came with years of grooming and patience. She kissed Sansa's cheek, then her lips, eliciting a small gasp from the red head.

She rested their foreheads together intimately, "You just look for me during it, sweet girl. Find me, and that will be all you need."

Sansa's eyes slipped closed in a pained expression, "what if that's not enough?"

Margaery kissed her then, achingly slow, she wanted to ground Sansa from her anxieties taking over. Draw the focus to her, to them, and hope that she would forget all else, even if she wouldn't.

Margaery knew she couldn't fix this; she couldn't fix Sansa. But she could try, she could be present, someone for Sansa to lean on when it got too much, and she knew tomorrow would be such a time.

"It will have to be enough," Margaery sighed, "I will find you after. I swear it."

She sealed her promise with a searing kiss, in which Sansa parted her lips allowing Margaery's tongue to slip inside and lovingly caress Sansa's own, and the younger girl sighed into her mouth. Margaery didn't mind the few tears that escaped with it.

Margaery could not spend this night with Sansa, not with Joffrey back around, even if Margaery and him slept in separate chambers for the time being. Tomorrow, as well as this kiss, would have to be enough for now, enough to hold them until Margaery could come up with a solution.

To her unpleasant surprise, it now pained her to part with Sansa. She found herself desperately wanting to break her own rules, to say to hell with Joffrey, and take Sansa to her bed just as she had done last night. To feel Sansa's body flushed against her own, to kiss her whenever she so desired.

So when Sansa pressed her lips more chastely to her jaw than she had before, she knew it was time for them to retire to their own beds, to struggle with sleep alone and wrestle with images of Lannisters and blood pooled flooring, as the both of them dreaded what came with the rising sun.

And her heart _hurt_.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Sansa** _

Sansa stared into the faded mirror, feeling as though she were looking at a stranger. The life in her eyes had gone out, leaving her with soulless orbs, and she struggled to pin point exactly when it had begun. She supposed she had been descending into depression for some time, starting with not eating, anti social tendencies, and now with her new marriage it seemed her appearance was catching up.

Maybe on a different day, at a completely different wedding, Sansa might think herself beautiful.

But not this day.

Her hair had just finished being woven into a crown of braids, with matching twin sets running down either side of her head to her breasts. On a different day her gown was beautiful, a sheer grey with gold accents, sleeveless and light, though it weighed her down like a gown of stones.

The servant girls moved quickly around her, painting her face with various makeup and pulling on her hair, stabbing her with pins, and when she met their gazes she was only met with crushing pity. The only one who didn't look at her in such a way was Margaery.

A knock at the door had her empty stomach suddenly cave in on itself, knowing who it would be. Her suspicions were confirmed when Shae opened the door, hesitating a moment before stepping aside to reveal a very uncomfortable Lord Tyrion, dressed in a master crafted maroon doublet. She sighed deeply as the room cleared in an instant, leaving only herself, Shae, and the little lord.

"Lady Sansa," he said pleasantly, his eyes darting between her and Shae who was eyeing him from her side.

"You look very handsome my lord," she answered equally so, and she truly tried to see it. Tried to see the good, however much it was, inside Lord Tyrion. If she didn't, she'd fall deeper into a pit of despair, and she was already up to her neck.

"Oh, yes, the husband of your dreams," he said, clearly trying to jest to cope with his nerves, "but you do look quite glorious."

The air in the room was thick with tension, an awkward silence settling between them. Tyrion cleared his throat, "perhaps we could have a moment alone? Do you mind?"

Sansa wasn't sure if he was talking to her, or Shae, and it didn't end up mattering when Tyrion didn't wait for an answer.

"Podrick, could you escort Lady Stark's handmaiden?" He asked over his shoulder to his faithful squire, Podrick Payne. Shae surprisingly didn't fight him on the matter, and for that Sansa was thankful, for she no longer had the energy to fight her own fate any longer.

The door closed behind them, and Tyrion was suddenly looking very pained, as he approached her with almost pleading eyes.

"My lady," he said seriously, "I want you to know, I did not ask for this."

Though Sansa was quite sure he wasn't exactly opposed to it either. She was not so naïve as to be unaware of her looks, it had sent men sniffing after her before. She shuddered as she remembered Ser Clegane saving her from a very near rape, one that would have most likely resulted in her death.

"I hope I will not disappoint you, my lord." The words came automatically, and Sansa was no longer herself but a shell, the Stark in her was dead. She was not Margaery's wolf.

Today, she was a Lannister.

Tyrion cringed at her words, "No, don't…you don't have to speak to me as a prisoner anymore. You wont be a prisoner after today, you'll be my wife." His eyes widened slightly as though something dawned on him, "I suppose that's a different kind of prison…" he trailed off, looking terribly conflicted, "I just wanted to say-I'm just trying to say, very badly…I just want to say I know how you feel."

Sansa could've scoffed had the situation not be so serious, so her face hardened instead.

"I doubt that very much, my lord."

Tyrion gave her an exasperated smile, his arms swinging loosely at his sides as he fell into the terrible habit of not looking at her, "You're right, I have no idea how you feel, and you have no idea how I feel." He strode over to her, his head craning up to meet her eye, as he took her hand in what she was sure was meant to be a comforting gesture, though her stomach just felt sick.

"But I promise you, I wont ever hurt you."

He said if with such conviction, she felt herself inclined to believe him. Sansa obviously hadn't had much luck in reading another's intentions before, but the way he spoke was strangely reassuring.

A small smile formed on his face, "Do you drink wine?"

"When I have to."

"Well, today you have to."

Sansa felt herself smiling with him, despite her situation. Perhaps wine would help.

* * *

Her heart beat in her throat, though the wine sent a pleasant buzz through her body, alleviating her nerves in the slightest. They nearly came back full force when the heavy doors of the Sept opened before her, the great room looking dark and very dungeon like rather than the beautiful Sept she remembered.

She saw Tyrion's small form, waiting for her, waiting for his new bride, as was everyone else in the room as she felt hundreds of eyes on her, their stares burning holes right through her.

The sound of studded boots to her right caused her to jump, and she turned to see Joffrey sauntering towards her, the way he took his lip in his teeth was almost predatory. She blinked, looking rather dumbstruck as he came to stand beside her.

"What are you doing?" she murmured, forgetting herself.

He shot her a bizarre look, "your father's gone. As the father of the realm, it is my duty to give you away to your husband." He smiled menacingly as he proffered his arm.

Rage welled up inside her, the idea of her father's executioner walking her down the aisle to marry a dwarf she didn't love almost too much to bear. She was living a nightmare, and the gown became heavier, until her bones ached and her shoulders sagged.

She took his arm.

The door of the Sept closed, sounding off like a dungeon.

They walked, agonizingly slow, past all the spectators with candles lit under their faces, making them appear grotesque and misshapen. Each footfall was like a cannon blow to her stomach, which already clenched painfully in on itself.

She looked for Margaery, just as she told her.

Margaery, dressed in periwinkle blue, her soft eyes boring into her, as though no one else existed.

Margaery, who gave her the most imperceptible nod, but the smile on her face was warmer than anything, she gave Sansa something to stand on.

She had a strange image, flashing violently at the forefront of her mind, of Joffrey handing her to Margaery instead. The Tyrell would kiss her passionately, in front of everyone in the Sept, before taking her to Highgarden to live out their days.

Sansa really was going mad.

Then there was Tyrion, looking at her expectantly, but woefully, and while he made her smile before, he now looked like just another noose ready to fall snug around her neck. Tywin and Cersei stood off to his side, Tywin looking pleased with his plans falling perfectly into place.

Joffrey smirked at his uncle as he delivered her, he was clearly enjoying the show more than anyone in the room. He stepped away, grabbing a crude wooden step stool, much to Tyrion's obvious humiliation. Joffrey dragged it across the floor as he lifted it, the sound scraping in all of their ears, a harsh reminder of the man's disability. The step stool was meant for Tyrion to cloak Sansa properly, but Joffrey had just taken it away, as he took so many things, leaving the two of them to sort it out themselves.

Just another way for Joffrey to be cruel.

The Septon, an elderly man, while looking unimpressed said nothing, for this was not his problem to address of course. He cleared his throat, his gaze boring into the both of them, "You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection," his voice echoed through the Sept.

There was an awkward pause as Tyrion peered up at her, looking very much emasculated as his eyes darted between her and the cloak in his trembling hands.

She sighed, turning around, waiting for him to inevitably fail to cover her with the fabric, and then the laughter started.

It started with Joffrey, of course, and it remained the loudest. It was contagious, and before long a light chuckle was traveling through the mass, even Tywin and Cersei joining in to ridicule their own blood. Sansa glanced at Margaery and her face was stone, clearly disapproving of those laughing at them.

She almost felt shame for the man, if she had any shame left that wasn't already directed at herself.

Tyrion leaned forward, "My lady, could you…?"

She internally screamed as she lowered herself to that floor, how dare the Lannisters humiliate her like this. What would her family say, if they say her now, sinking to the floor to be cloaked by an Imp, what would the North say?

It didn't matter. She was no longer Sansa Stark.

"Thank you," he murmured, signifying he was done his task. She straightened, not daring to make eye contact with any of the boars that had the nerve to laugh. Instead, she and Tyrion faced the Septon, and Sansa was very much trying not to get sick on the man's shoes.

The Septon gave them a once over, before addressing the Sept, "Your Grace, Your Grace," to Cersei and Joffrey, "My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of Gods and men, to witness the union of man and wife."

Sansa felt her head spin as bile rose to her throat.

"One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."

She swallowed the acid until it burned, begging to any Gods who would listen to just end it all.

The room was deathly silent, only amplifying Sansa's desire to scream, to fill the air with something, anything. She was far too focused on maintaining consciousness to even think about looking at the crowd of people come to witness their sad wedding. She couldn't even look at Margaery anymore.

It all led to this; her entire life thus far spending grueling hours learning everything she could about being royalty from the Septa, fighting tooth and nail to outshine every lady in court, in hopes that she would marry into a powerful house to a handsome husband and live out her days as a beautiful, loving wife in a grand, overzealous castle.

She got the powerful house, at least.

* * *

The great hall was filled with the sound of insufferable music and the bellows of drunk man, the drunkest being Sansa's own husband, Tyrion Lannister. She side eyed him as he downed another goblet of wine, and was suddenly overcome with the urge to grab her own, so she did.

She picked at her food, she never ate much on a normal day, and now it just seemed out of the question. The empty feeling in her stomach matched how she truly felt, and thankfully, Tyrion seemed far too preoccupied with his wine to notice.

She glanced towards Margaery's table, which was not sat far from their own. She seemed to be in a heated discussion with Olenna, with Olenna clearly doing most of the talking, with Loras sat between them, doing most of the brooding.

Suddenly, Loras stood, giving his grandmother a glaring look before storming off, out of the room. Sansa was the only one who noticed, with the other guests too distracted by music and lacks of inhibitions. To them, this was a grand feast, a chance to socialize with the elite and make a few bad decisions along the way. They didn't see it for what it really was, a prison sentence, a curse.

Tyrion was picking his teeth beside her, and she felt growing hot with anger. She gritted her teeth as he snorted, wiping his mouth crudely on the tablecloth, the _tablecloth_ , and she knew then that she had had enough.

"Will you pardon me, my lord?" she asked evenly, though beneath the surface she felt as though she were losing control. She already had, landing in this position in the first place, but now there was something else, something lost within herself that she could never get back.

"Of course, of course, e-enjoy," he hiccupped, his words slurring so bad she had to strain her ears just to hear the man.

She slipped away, eyeing Shae who nodded in her direction, and made to follow her out. Much to her annoyance, she was stopped to be forced into conversation more than once, the congratulations raining over her like a suffocating blanket, until she was pretty sure she flat out ignored the last few that approached her, too deafened by the sheer desperation to escape.

She finally left the stifling room, greeted by the fresh air of the empty hallway. She barely took two steps before she was approached yet again. An exasperated retort was on her lips until she had turned to see who it was.

"Congratulations, my lady," Joffrey said smoothly, almost too smoothly, a strange change from his usual cruel tone and somehow, this felt much worse.

"Thank you, Your Grace," was her short reply.

"You've done it. You've married a Lannister, and soon you'll have a Lannister baby. It's a dream come true to you, isnt it?" his breath was hot on her face, and she had the stark realization that Shae was no longer beside her, only Joffrey's guards remained behind them. She felt as though she had been dunked in ice cold water.

"Yes, Your Grace."

"I suppose it doesn't really matter which Lannister puts the baby into you." And there it was, the cold fear that had been creeping up on her, the way he talked so kind, with a kind smile on his face to match. Shae's absence, presumably held back by the guards, possibly the very same that beat Sansa. Joffrey had her now, all because she couldn't stay by Tyrion Lannister's side for one bloody evening.

"Perhaps I'll pay you a visit tonight, after my uncle passes out. How would you like that?" his voice was soft, soft in the way Margaery speaks to her, but it had a jarring opposite effect. When she didn't answer, he spoke again, "you wouldn't? Well, that's alright, I'll have Ser Meryn and Ser Boros hold you down.

He grinned, pure evil dripping from his cat like smile, and he left her in a trembling mess. She wasn't sure what to do now, unsure whether to tell Margaery, and certainly knew she couldn't tell her Lord husband. It was very unlikely he could control Joffrey any better than she could, and if he went against him for her, Joffrey would only make her life worse.

She could only hope that if Joffrey decided to make good on his promise, that Tyrion would be easy to wake.

She returned to his side on shaky legs, which were expertly hidden by her dress. Tyrion, so drunk her could barely see a foot in front of him, didn't seem to notice her at all. She preferred it that way, preferred if everyone in the hall would stop noticing her while they were at it.

Of course, Joffrey would see to it that it would never be so.

He clapped his hands, gaining the attention of the room, "Its time for the bedding ceremony!" Joffrey suddenly grabbed Sansa's hand, pulling her from the hall, from Margaery, who couldn't even keep her calm demeanor as her eyes flashed with worry, and Sansa desperately wanted to run to her arms.

"There will be no bedding ceremony."

The claps and jeers died down completely, the entire hall craning their necks to look at Tyrion, everyone except for Joffrey, who kept pulling her down the stairs.

"Where's your respect for tradition uncle?! Come, everyone! Pick her up and carry her to her wedding bed!"

He looked like a wild animal, and Sansa realized that this was all for him. His love for torturing Sansa knew no bounds, and she looked around to see if someone, _anyone_ , was going to stop him, but of course that was ridiculous.

"Get rid of her gown, she won't be needing it any longer," her eyes slid shut, preparing herself as she did in the throne room, when she was stripped and beaten by Joffrey's hounds, as she did when they tried to rape her, when she was alone on the floor, a whole gang of them. She prepared herself for humiliation, as Margaery would finally see her shame.

"Ladies! Attend to my uncle, he's not heavy!"

"There will be no bedding ceremony," Tyrion said again, a little firmer. The atmosphere in the room was suddenly very tense, and the guests seemed very awkward as they were unsure what to do. Sansa looked at Margaery, as Joffrey still squeezed on her wrist, looking to find some form of comfort, anything to distract her from the humiliating display.

Margaery's eyes softened when they found Sansa's. She only looked for a moment, but it was all she needed. She was there, and it would have to be enough. She inhaled a shaky breath, doing her best to steady her nerves.

"There will be if I command it!" Joffrey bellowed, his face reddening as he released Sansa's hand, whirling around to face his uncle.

SLAM!

The dagger protruded out of the solid oak table, wavering slightly from the vibration of force Tyrion had put behind the thrust, and the room fell silent. Sansa was beginning to wonder if there would be bloodshed at her wedding tonight.

"Then you'll be fucking your own bride with a wooden cock." Tyrion snarled, and there were more than a few gasps to be heard. Sansa felt the color drain from her face, and saw it had in Margaery's as well. Tywin looked as though he were filled with murderous rage, Cersei bemused, and Joffrey completely shocked.

It was a sight to behold.

Tywin stood up as Joffrey cocked his head, "what did you say?" he hissed, his eye beginning to twitch and Sansa thought for sure he was going to command Tyrion's head right there. He walked over to him, slow and careful like a predator, despite the drink coursing through him, only worsening his reddened face. "What. Did. You. Say!?"

"I believe we can dispense with the bedding, Your Grace," Tywin said, clearly recognizing the need to take control of the situation, "I'm sure Tyrion did not mean to threaten the King."

Tyrion squeezed the hilt of the dagger still clutched in his hand as he ground his teeth together. He decided then to save himself, rather than end the night in death, and began to laugh out loud with a wide grin on his face.

"A bad joke, Your Grace, made out of envy of your own royal manhood," he stood then, Joffrey's eyes followed the movement with a hint of confusion, "mine is so small," Tyrion said loudly, gesturing to his pants. "My poor wife wont even know I'm there."

Tywin glared daggers at Tyrion, "your uncle is clearly quite drunk, Your Grace."

"I am," Tyrion drawled, "guilty, but it is my wedding night, and my tiny drunk cock and I have a job to do!"

He stumbled over, bumping into a few guests along the way, and into a table, sending goblets and food crashing to the floor.

Sansa seethed, though she knew he was going to get drunk, she wasn't aware he would become a complete stumbling fool. She could almost smell his hot breath on how now, as he climbed on top of her, Gods she couldn't do it.

She looked to Margaery, walking on the edge of a panic, about to tell her there was no way it could happen. How could it? Look at the state of the man, was no one seeing how wrong all of this was?

But Margaery's gaze stopped her, pulling the thoughts from her head with one look. Her eyes were smoldering, Margaery clearly as uncomfortable about this as well, but she raised her chin to display a jaw set in utter determination, her eyes convincing her to find that confidence she so desperately needed. And then her mouth moved, and Sansa paid rapt attention, not daring to miss a word.

_Me. Think of me._

Sansa gave her the smallest of nods, she wanted Margaery to know she understood, and that she would follow through. She would always think of her, when she was forced to lay with a man she didn't love, when she found herself alone, broken in the afterglow, even if she eventually ever made it out of this place, Sansa knew she would think of her.

"Come wife," Tyrion said quickly, holding his hand out to her. With one final, terribly awkward glance around the room, she followed him, into what would be her perfect nightmare to top off this already hellish night.

"I vomited on a girl once, in the middle of the act. Not proud of it," he said loudly, and Sansa wished everyone would just stop _talking_ , "But, I think honesty is important between a man and wife isnt it? Come, I'll tell you all about it, put you in the mood."

Her face burned as she walked past the remainder of the guests, too ashamed to look in their faces, knowing she would only find pity and disgust. She was absolutely mortified, and she prayed that the ordeal would be over quickly, Gods let it be quickly.

When they entered his chambers, it was dark, save for the candles that had already been lit. There was, of course, a decanter full of wine sitting on the nearby table, and Sansa suddenly wished she drank as much as Tyrion. She wondered if he would allow her to drink before he laid with her. She couldn't keep her eyes off the cursed bed.

Tyrion closed the door, the jarring sound vibrating to her very core, and panic began to settle in her chest, cold and uninvited. She felt as though the room as smaller than it was, and she began to wring her hands together, unsure what to do except stand there, frozen.

To her mild relief, instead of approaching her he went for the decanter of wine, though she couldn't quite summon the courage to ask him for one. Though the idea of him being drunker than he already was was not a welcome one.

"Is that wise, my lord?" she asked timidly.

"Tyrion, Sansa. My name is Tyrion."

She swallowed, "is that wise, Tyrion?"

He turned to her now, swirling the wine in his hand, his gaze curious, "nothing was ever the wiser."

He teetered over to the chair, unceremoniously clambering onto it before his settled his gaze upon Sansa once again.

"Astoundingly long," he drawled, taking a long sip of the wine.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"Neck," he said simply, "you have one….how old are you exactly?"

"Sixteen." She was aware of the tremendous age difference, she needn't be reminded. Tyrion suddenly looked very somber.

"Well, talk won't make you any older," he stood, taking a few small steps towards her, and the panic was paramount now, "my lord father has commanded me to consummate this marriage."

She failed miserably at hiding her panicked breaths and she went to where the wine sat, all thoughts of asking completely gone from her mind. She poured, the glass tinkering with the tremble of her hands. She brought the red liquid to her lips, and she could see Tyrion raising his own goblet out of the corner of her eye, and she swallowed the contents in one hard swallow.

She looked to the bed, where she would bare all before her now husband, and her heart seized when she thought of Margaery, how she wished it was her hands, not his, that would be roaming her body.

Margaery's soft hands, that which she got used to caressing her this past week. She had been spoiled with Margaery's effects on her, that it made laying with Tyrion all the more miserable. She should've asked Margaery to touch her first, should have insisted she was ready. She didn't want to give her maidenhood to him, it didn't belong to him.

Margaery's soft whimpers as Sansa stole her breath with a heated kiss. The way her skin burned when Margaery lay flush against her.

She approached the bed now, each step feeling as though she were marching to her own hell. Her hands shook on the lace of her gown as she began to pull, the dress growing looser with every knot broken, a dress that had once been so suffocating, was now her only barrier between herself and him.

She had tried to hold herself together, not even for him but for Margaery, and she hated how her resolve she had worked so hard to maintain throughout the hellish evening, broke as though it were the lace on her gown.

Tears fell as she removed the bulk of it, staining what little undergarments she had left. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing them away, willing the floor to swallow her up, willing for Joffrey to even burst in the door and stick a sword in her gut because _Gods_ , she was so afraid-

"Stop."

His voice was soft, though in the quiet of the chambers it still echoed, enough to cause her to nearly jump as she turned to face him, unbelieving of what she just heard.

He looked at her, "I can't," he said bitterly. "I could, I won't."

Sansa hugged herself, suddenly aware of how even the dim candlelight seemed to shine too bright, "but, your father-"

"If my father wants someone to get fucked I know where he can start," he spat, though when he glanced back to her, his tone softened, "I won't share your bed. Not until you want me to."

She fiddled with her necklace, the obvious question hanging in the air, and she knew she needed to say it.

"What if I never want you to?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment, before raising his glass with a small smile, "and so, my watch begins," he jested, citing the Nights Watch and their inability to father children.

He finished the contents of his glass, before stumbling over to a chaise tucked into the corner. He collapsed on it with a great thud, and lay there unmoving.

Sansa let out a breath, whooshing out of her lungs leaving her lightheaded, her brain trying to catch up to what had just transpired. She moved to the bed where she sank there, slowly, the tears falling freely now. She choked back a sob and squeezed a hand over her mouth, she sheer relief of Tyrion's speech flooding over her, the fact that it very nearly happened was still pumping adrenaline throughout her body.

Margaery said she would find her after. And she will. Sansa just had to get through this sleepless night, and she would come back to her. Sansa knew that Margaery was only a short term solution to a very long term problem she faced, but she didn't care. Her life was not her own to do what she wished with anymore, and whatever happened next would happen regardless of her permissions or desires.

But for now, she had Margaery, who taught her what a real kiss feels like. Sansa was questioning if she even liked men at all, anymore.

She eyed the wine once again. She hated how much she felt like Cersei, but now she could see the appeal. She huffed and gave in, going to pour another glass of the burning liquid.

If nothing else, it should help her sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. This chapter. None of the chapters in the story so far gave me the difficulty of this one. I don't know why, I've rewritten it a couple of times now, and I just feel like I'm not hitting the feelings the way I want to. Idk. I hope you guys like it at least? Let me know what you think :)

_**Margaery** _

Margaery yawned, the sleeplessness of the previous night hitting her like a tidal wave the following morning. She couldn't get the awful images of Sansa out of her head, the terror that filled her eyes as she left the room with Tyrion. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, praying to the Gods he was gentle with her, that he was considerate and patient.

Everything she would have been with Sansa, if she got the chance.

She had awoken to Elinor calling her name, announcing the arrival of the new day. Despite her fatigue, Margaery leapt out of bed, eager to go find Sansa and ensure she had not suffered the night before. But of course, she had, she had seen Sansa's suffering since she first met the girl.

And after last night, Margaery couldn't be sure what kind of Sansa she would be meeting this morning.

She had already ask Elinor to pass on a message to Shae, to let Sansa know where she will be. She felt anxious, seeing Sansa, as though she were seeing a new woman, and she had to admit it rubbed her the wrong way. She didn't like the idea of her being with Tyrion in the first place, despite him being the best of the Lannisters, which wasn't saying much. But she definitely didn't like his behavior the night before, the way he utterly humiliated the girl, along with himself.

She slipped into her light blue dress, the one without sleeves, the very same she met Sansa in the first time. Once her hair was up, she hastily made her way out the door towards the gardens, not even bothering to break her fast first. She knew she was being rather silly, for all she knew Sansa was in the dining hall right now, but she found she didn't have the energy to risk it and be forced to converse with any one of the Lannisters before seeing Sansa first.

It's not as though any would be looking for her this early, though. Joffrey was so drunk he probably won't wake until noon.

Elinor caught up with her as she was exiting the Keep. She tried her best to hide her discomposure, but Elinor read her like a book as she always did. She joined her side and walked with her towards the gardens. Early as it was, there was scarce few people around, save for a handful of guards.

She was only silent as long as she could stand it, which wasn't long at all.

"Well?" she hushed, not daring to look at Elinor in fear of what she might have seen, going to Sansa's own handmaiden.

"She will be here shortly," Elinor said simply, and Margaery could see her eyes on her in her peripherals.

"What of her state?" Margaery said impatiently, wincing as she felt her tone was harsh. She couldn't help her conveyance of emotion when it came to Sansa Stark, with every fiber of her being she just had to _know_.

"I'm sorry, Margaery. I did not see her."

Margaery let of a sigh, frustrated although she could not blame Elinor. The anticipation had her on edge, and she did not know why she desired so to see what became of Sansa after last night, because she hadn't yet came up with a plan for how she might react. What will she do if Tyrion was a monster? What can she do?

They arrived at the usual spot in the gardens where she would meet Sansa; a covering of tall rose bushels thickened by lush greens and full blossoms in bloom for the season. Private, for the two of them, and Margaery found she couldn't keep her eyes of the hedges, knowing she would take Sansa there, anticipating the things she was about to do to her, as she kissed her wounds as she did with the others, and held her close and though it were where she was meant to be.

"Margaery," Elinor started tentatively, "I'm sure she's fine-"

"You saw him during the feast last night," she cut her off, fighting the urge to bite her nails, "he was a boar."

"Most men are," Elinor soothed, putting a hand on Margaery's arm, "What Sansa went through is no different than what any woman of a prominent house goes through."

She was right, and she hated how it didn't feel that way with Sansa. As though Sansa should be exempt from such things, she had already been through enough. What more must this girl go through at the hands of these people?

It had Margaery thinking that a conversation with her grandmother was now overdue.

Joffrey had been consistently worsening in his behavior; so much so, Margaery was beginning to fear for her own safety. She had always known it was a possibility, known that he loved with an iron fist, but it was becoming clear that it could go far beyond a beating here and an insult there. Joffrey was capable of killing without batting an eye, and had been so ready to do so even if it meant his own blood, as he displayed with Tyrion the night before. Unfortunately, this wasn't how she and her grandmother had planned for things to go, but it was apparent something needed to be done, and soon.

Joffrey would be expecting her when he woke, and she was unsure of what mood he might be in if he was sporting a hangover. She tried to think that anything he did would only be more evidence to present to her grandmother as proof of his further descent into madness.

"Margaery," Elinor whispered, grabbing Margaery's attention. She followed her gaze to the entrance of their area of the garden, and saw Sansa and her handmaiden approaching.

She felt her breath catch, as was her usual reaction when Sansa graced her with her presence. She tried to control her face as she approached, though she could not control her grin when she saw Sansa's own small one she offered. She was _smiling_ , which Margaery could only assume was a good sign, though her stomach still felt as though it were weighed down by a rock.

Painfully aware of Shae and Elinor's presence, she held out her arm for Sansa to take.

"Come," she said quietly, loud enough for only Sansa to hear, and she didn't miss the flash of yearning in Sansa's impossibly blue eyes, and Margaery felt her own yearning suddenly and sharp, like a hook in her heart.

Not a second after they were hidden behind the safety of the large bushes, after Margaery had taken a bare glance around to ensure they were still truly alone, Sansa's hands were on her, and the painful gap between evening and morning was closed instantly, as though those long hours never existed, never affected her so.

But it had.

The question was burning in her throat, but Sansa's lips were also there, leaving a trail of fiery kisses that fogged her mind and left her words to die there, just for the moment.

She whimpered as Sansa's hands grabbed her waist greedily, her lips like a soothing balm, and Margaery hadn't quite realized when she had become so addicted to the girl, if her stuttering heart was any indication. Her abdomen clenched when Sansa squeezed her rear, and she desperately wanted to give in to Sansa's touch, knowing that the girl clearly needed it as much as Margaery wanted it, but she had to talk to Sansa, instead of trying to bandage whatever she was feeling with pleasure.

"Sansa," she gasped, as Sansa nipped her earlobe, eliciting another quietly drawn out moan from deep in her throat. "Sansa," she said again, less breathy than before, as she put her hands on the girls shoulders to give them enough distance to see her face. She searched her eyes, for any hint of pain that could have been inflicted on her, for any sign of damage.

"Are you alright?" she whispered, cupping the girls cheek with a gentle hand. Sansa suddenly looked anxious, doing nothing to ease Margaery's concerns, though she didn't look entirely devastated either.

Sansa swallowed hard, "W-we didn't do it," she whispered.

Margaery blinked, allowing Sansa's words to sink in, and the first reaction she felt was a cold dread washing over her, while Sansa stood looking very much ashamed. This wasn't the conversation she was expecting to have with Sansa, and as the feeling of trepidation began to squeeze her heart like an iron vice, she knew she would have to act even sooner than she thought.

"Sansa," Margaery pleaded in a hushed voice, "if Lord Tywin finds out-"

"I know," Sansa cried quietly, wheeling around to run her hands nervously through her hair, as though the weight of her actions were dawning on her for the first time, "I know, and I was going to I swear it, b-but he said…"

Margaery waited on edge for Sansa to finish. She could not quell the storm in her stomach now, could not keep her worst fears at bay.

Her latest worst fear, of losing Sansa.

"…he said he couldn't. And he said he never would until I wanted him. But I won't ever want him Margaery, don't you see? I want _you_ , and I'll only ever want you." She whispered it like an admission of a terrible secret, and in a way, it was.

And Margaery did see, at least she did now. As she had suspected, she had made a terrible mistake, and her actions had only led Sansa straight into danger. Sansa might not have slept with Tyrion had she never met Margaery anyway, but with that she would never know if Sansa would be truthful or not. What she did know, is that she was now actively playing a role that prevents Sansa from sleeping with Tyrion to produce an heir, and Tywin will have her head for it.

"Gods, this is my fault," Margaery mumbled, her eyes wide with horror. She grabbed Sansa's shoulders, "Sansa, if you do not produce an heir soon, Tywin _will_ kill you."

She hated the way Sansa's own eyes filled with dread too, but not at the part of Margaery's words she thought she would.

"What do you mean…your fault?" she said quietly, her hand coming to find Margaery's as though she were terrified she were going to flee.

Margaery swallowed and averted her gaze, unable to bear Sansa's any longer, "When I kissed you. When I started this whole thing between us, whatever it is. I've only managed to endanger your life, the very opposite of what I was trying to do," she scoffed bitterly.

Sansa looked hurt by the statement, her eyes welling with emotion, though she reached for Margaery regardless and she was glad for it.

"Margaery, I would never want him, ever," Sansa said, her thumb caressing Margaery's hand, soothing her in the slightest. She tried to focus in the sensation, wanting very much to clear her head, "you cannot blame yourself, if it wasn't for you…"

Sansa needn't finish her sentence, Margaery knew of the state Sansa was in before she arrived, knew what she had went through. The way her depression was written all over her, it had crossed her mind if Sansa had ever attempted such a thing, or at least thought about it.

She supposed she had her answer.

She did the only thing that made sense in the moment, and pulled the younger girl to her to capture her lips in a deep, passionate kiss. She needed Sansa to know she was still here, that she wouldn't run away. Despite how she might have contributed to Sansa's possible demise, this was the position they were in now. She could not wallow in regret, when she needed to act.

She couldn't resist snaking her tongue into Sansa's mouth, she tasted so sweet. Refreshing, like summer rain on a scorching day, and Margaery had been outside too long. Sansa sucked on her tongue and took it in her teeth, before pressing her lips fully to Margaery's again, and she felt a heat pool between her legs, the familiar ache building and this time she couldn't restrain herself.

She took a deep breath, and against her own better judgement, pressed a her thigh between Sansa's legs, pulling away from the kiss, because some twisted part of her wanted to see Sansa's face as she did it. She wanted to see Sansa come undone, despite what risks may await them, and besides it was nothing more beyond this. That's what she told herself.

Sansa gasped sharply into her mouth, and it very nearly awoken the primal urges Margaery had been fighting to suppress, and she had to bite her own cheek until she nearly drew blood just to keep her grounded to reality, to keep her from doing something that they both might regret.

She knew what she was doing now was already bordering that, though.

She grabbed Sansa's hips, digging her nails in as she pulled her to her again, reveling in the feel of Sansa's center sliding up her near-trembling thigh. Sansa's eyes fluttered shut, her swollen lips parting to let out a small cry, and Margaery thought she might cry with her because Sansa Stark was so _beautiful_ like this, and she was so glad she decided to end the kiss so she could watch this scene unfold before her.

"Margaery," Sansa gasped, as Margaery slowly brought her again, slowly, testing out this new interaction between them. She didn't want to overwhelm Sansa, though her concerns were put to bed when she spoke, "Please, I want you to touch me Margaery, please touch me," she gasped, her face growing red when Margaery only stared at her.

"N-not here, I mean. I'm sure there's somewhere, sometime soon, now?" Sansa was rambling, the adrenaline clearly pulsing in her veins, the arousal kicking her mind into overdrive, and now she could only think of the touch, of the indescribable _need_.

The pressure mounting between her own legs was insurmountable, but Sansa's voice had jarred her from her trance, as though she were doused in cold water, her desire replaced by the rational sensibility they both sorely needed.

As much as she hated to say it, she didn't have a choice. She felt horrible for taking it as far as she had, teasing Sansa like that.

"Sansa," she whispered, stopping her motions with the girl and pressing her forehead to her instead, her hands no longer grasping at her waist with hunger, but with gentle care instead, hoping that Sansa would understand her, "I'm sorry, we can do certain things, but I cannot be the one to take your maidenhood."

Sansa looked confused, but before she could respond Margaery continued, "if you don't produce an heir, they will get suspicious, and could very well order an examination on you. And if word got back to Tyrion, he will know you've laid with another, because he will know it wasn't his doing. We don't know what he might do."

A sense of understanding came over Sansa, as she closed her eyes in pained agreement, "you're right," she whispered, not attempting to hide the sadness in her voice, "you're right, I highly doubt Tyrion would overlook something like that, after nearly getting himself thrown in the black cells for defending me. It's just so hard...I can't control myself with you."

Margaery breathed deep, breathing in Sansa's scent of snow and ice trying to imprint it on her memory, knowing all too well the feeling Sansa was experiencing. They couldn't linger much longer, as much as it tore at her guts to be going back to Joffrey after their encounter, but her nagging duty would always come back to haunt her.

Hopefully, not for forever.

"We should go," Sansa said morosely, "Will I see you later?"

Margaery kissed her again, more chaste this time, but no less caring, "you will. Be strong, dear wolf, remember I told you we'd find a way?"

She nodded, rubbing her soft cheek against Margaery's as she pulled her into a final embrace, "I do."

Margaery inhaled sharply, wondering if she would be able to fulfill such a promise, for the risk of letting Sansa down weighed heavily on her conscious, and the fear would grip her chest again, as it always did.

* * *

She should have known her outing with Sansa that morning would be the only good part of her day, the remainder falling into complete and utter shit thanks to her husband to be. He awoke around noon, just as she suspected he would, and summoned her to his chambers at once. He had her perform less than desirable acts on him, before evening bothering to bathe, and the smell of sweat and alcohol stung her nostrils throughout the entire ordeal.

To make matters worse, they had travelled into the city to go to the Sept for prayer. One of the common folk had accidentally tossed out his wash water just when Joffrey had rounded a corner, splashing his boots with the murky liquid. Joffrey had his guards beat the man until he was nearly unrecognizable, and it took everything within her to hide her shame. She wanted to be a good Queen to these people, but they would never see her as such as long as she remained with Joffrey.

She was actually relieved when they returned to Joffrey's chambers, to get out of the public eye and their stares of burning hatred for the crown. She was dismayed at the fact she couldn't escape him completely, but he had insisted she come back with him here, most likely so she can pleasure him some more.

Sure enough, Joffrey had a familiar gleam in his eye, and Margaery smirked back at him flirtatiously, and she once again fell into the role of someone who loved this man, noticeably with more effort than before. The air was thick with falsified sexual tension, and for a moment she thought he was going to toss her onto the bed and perhaps say to hells with waiting for their wedding day. She thought, she would have to prepare for the most nauseating aspect of being with Joffrey, so she was surprised when he instead asked her to sit on the bed.

"Please, my lady, get comfortable," he said excitedly, gesturing for her to sit further on it, and she swung her legs on the bed and tucked them under her, raising an eyebrow.

"What is this, my King?" she inquired, and wondered for a far fetched moment that Joffrey might be offering to pleasure her for once. Not like that was something she particularly wanted to experience either.

"My lady," he started, "you're beauty is unmatched by any woman, highborn or otherwise, in all of Westeros. I can't say that showing such great restraint with you has been easy," his eyes darkened suddenly, though the grin never left his face, instead it turned predatory. Margaery felt her skin crawl as dread seeped into the pit of her stomach, and she tried to swallow inconspicuously. She had an eerie feeling that there was two meanings to his words, and that he was restraining himself from doing something much more dangerous than penetrating her with his cock.

She smiled as she literally swallowed her fear, waiting for him to speak. He wouldn't dare hurt her, not before the wedding.

"I think our exceptional display of willpower deserves a reward, don't you? Sort of a pre marital gift?"

She didn't want to accept whatever gift it was he was speaking of. In fact, the very idea that Joffrey would possess any gift of any kind was enough to place the stone back in her stomach, heavier than before. Gifts of pleasantries were not on Joffrey's nature, so she was well aware that whatever he was about to do would not sit well with her at all.

The smirk never left his features as he strode to his chamber door, giving it a sharp rap with his jeweled hand.

"Send her in!"

Cold dread squeezed at her heart until it hurt, and she struggled to take in that single, sharp breath that cut her chest like a knife when she saw Sansa pushed roughly into the room by the guard outside.

No.

_Gods, no._

Her face, she desperately tried to change it from complete horror into a nervous smile but Joffrey was already looking at her. To her surprise, he barked out a laugh.

"You misunderstand me, my lady, I will allow you a turn with her too, after all. It is but two days until our wedding day, and Sansa Stark needs a Lannister babe regardless. I figured you and I could have some fun with her." His grin was nothing short of evil, as he looked at Sansa with a pure, carnal hunger, his hands twitching dangerously at his sides.

She wracked her brain in a desperate search for a solution to this very large, very urgent problem. She looked to Sansa, but the girl would not meet her eyes, opting to stare at the floor instead.

She gave Joffrey a tight smile, "My King, what of Lord Tyr-"

 _"I_ am a _King_!" he spat, his eyes flashing at the mere mention of his uncle, and Margaery was kicking herself for bringing it up at all, "he is an _imp_. It will be so if I desire it."

His eyes were on Sansa now, the ravaging grin on his face growing as he stepped closer to her. He was almost close enough to touch her, and with ever inch of closed distance Margaery's panic rose higher, and though Sansa's face remained unchanged, she was sure she must be fearing for her life.

_Think._

"What say you, Lady Sansa?" he said quietly, like a low, deep growl in his throat, "do you want to know what it's like to fuck a King?"

Sansa finally lifted her gaze to him and she locked eyes with his own, her expression neutral, as though she was accepting her fate that was laid out for her.

_I have to think._

Sansa swallowed, "I don't think my Lord husband-"

 _CRACK_!

The sound of the back of Joffrey's hand striking Sansa in the mouth could've easily been mistaken for that of a whip, or a branch, for it was sharp and jarring in Margaery's ears. Almost as though it were the snapping of a bone. Margaery's heart went to her throat, a cold sweat breaking out over her and then the trembling began.

The force behind the blow sent Sansa reeling to the floor, she barely had a chance to hit the stone before his hand was around the back of her gown, and he was already hauling her up with all of his strength. He threw her, directly onto the bed, directly at Margaery's own _feet_ , the momentum causing her face to be sent flat into the mattress, leaving an ugly red streak from where her mouth was undoubtedly bleeding.

Margaery couldn't stop looking at the smear of blood, it popped before her eyes in stark contrast to the pearl white sheets on the bed, as red as the banners of House Lannister, as the mist of anger building behind her eyes.

Sansa's head turned, though she wouldn't look at Margaery, wouldn't say a word. Her eyes remained focused on the wall in front of her, her face devoid of emotion with the exception of those eyes. Margaery knew them well enough to recognize the fear. Her lip was visibly split from Joffrey's hand, pouring blood down her chin, to pool more on the sheets beneath, the swelling already beginning to take form.

And there was that fucking smear of blood. Sansa's blood.

The sound of leather being slid against a brass buckle had her tearing her eyes away, her jaw slack in a shock she couldn't seem to wake up from. It felt as though someone drove a stake into her throat, when she saw Joffrey bunching up Sansa's gown, one of his hands pressed into her back while the other undid his trousers, his hand reaching for his member hastily, and Margaery couldn't bear it, not anymore, not this-

" _No_!" she cried, nearly screamed, an ungodly amount of urgency in her voice, far too much to go unnoticed even by clueless Joffrey. The room was awfully quiet, save for Sansa's heavy breathing, though it was barely audible over the sound of her own frantic heart.

Joffrey stared at her, his face twisted in shock, but slowly, she could see it turning to rage.

She let out a breathy laugh, knowing she would have to give the performance of a century to get them out of this now, "My love, I know this might seem…silly, but it would mean so much to me if you waited until our wedding, and let me lay with you first. It shames me to admit that I envy Sansa Stark, and I should wish to lay with you before she does."

Her words didn't waver once. She said it as though it were a natural, passing comment. She just needed Joffrey to buy it.

There was a pause, before Joffrey barked out a laugh and straightened himself, much to Margaery's slight relief, "my lady, I did not take you for the jealous type!" he grabbed Sansa by the collar again and hauled her to her feet.

Margaery nearly cried, her heart seizing upon getting a better look at Sansa now. Her gorgeous, red hair, matted and in disarray, her blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The blood, smeared across her face, was just as it was on the mattress, standing out on Sansa's porcelain skin. Her lip was caked with a near blackened blood as it coagulated, an ugly split hiding underneath.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Joffrey spat, causing Sansa to wince, " _Out, whore!"_

Sansa curtsied quickly and nearly ran from the room, not looking at Margaery once as she let the door slam behind her. Margaery let out a held breath, relieved that Sansa was putting difference between her and Joffrey.

Joffrey looked at her and shrugged, "I do hope you'll understand my lady, I may round up some of the men and visit the brothel," he encroached her space then, coming up along the side of the bed and leaning down close to her, breathing deeply as though he could smell the fear and lies upon her skin, "surely, you won't express the same jealousy toward a common whore?" his words were menacing, and she knew he was daring her to oppose him now.

"No, Your Grace," she said quietly, feeling smaller than ever.

"Good," he straightened then, and made to go to the door, "and Margaery?"

She dragged her eyes to him, his expression nothing short of deadly, and Margaery knew in this moment that she had lost him, that her charms had no affect on the boy, and it wouldn't be long until she became another one of Joffrey's victims.

"Never defy me like that again. You'll do well to remember that."

The door slammed for a second time that night, and Margaery didn't move. Instead she stared at the red smear some more, until she couldn't hear Joffrey's foot falls anymore. When there was nothing left but utter silence, she let out a strangled sob and threw a nearby pillow over the red steak, fighting the urge to strip the bed knowing she was in Joffrey's chambers and not her own.

She couldn't wait any longer, and without a care for dress and decorum she bolted from his chambers, from the nightmare that was left lingering inside, not in the direction of her own chambers but Sansa's.

She didn't care for the strange looks cast by the guards along the way.

She didn't care that her hair was a mess, that her face was streaked with tears.

She dare anyone try and stop her.

When she reached Sansa's chambers after what seemed like a lifetime of running, she had a brief moment of rationality that Tyrion may very well be on the other side of that door, for it was now Sansa's new chambers. She knew she shouldn't, that it was wrong to eavesdrop, but she pressed her ear to the door regardless.

"-I-I _have_ to get out of here, S-Shae, I _have_ to-" she heard Sansa's muffled cries on the other side and her heart broke, and she reached a trembling hand for the knob, slowly and silently opening the door. She was almost afraid to see what greeted her on the other side.

Sansa's back was to her, sat on a chair by the window, though Shae were facing her and dabbing her lip with a dampened cloth, the fabric a blackened color in the dim light of the room. She made to dip the cloth in a bowl of water when Margaery caught her eye. Sansa put her head in her hands, her body wracked with uncontrollable sobs, but Shae kept her eyes on Margaery. It was almost unnerving.

The near imperceptible movement of Shae shaking her head in the negative was all she needed.

She was not welcome here.

Not right now.

She swallowed hard as her eyes welled with fresh tears, and she backed out of the room where she had no place, the door shutting as noiselessly as it had opened.

She squeezed her eyes shut, expelling the tears that had since been unshed, and willed her heart to slow and the tremble of her hands to subside..

She prayed for Sansa, that she would find the will to come back to Margaery tomorrow.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Just wanted to let you know, that this chapter as well as the following two will be all Sansa POV's. I just felt that this part of the story is better told from her side. And another, later important side note, Rickon Stark lives in my fic :)  
> Enjoy!

_**Sansa** _

The throbbing in her lip paled in comparison to the wound she felt in her heart upon waking the next morning. Shae had arrived to wake her early, just as she promised, to help apply some make up to cover the horrid mark. She didn't see how they a hope of even remotely hiding it, the split was large, ugly and black. Tyrion would see it in a heartbeat.

She didn't know her Lord Husbands whereabouts the night prior, the fact he wasn't in their chambers was pure luck for Sansa. Had he seen the state she was in, he would immediately know it was Joffrey, and would have started on a war path. Even though it wasn't ideal, she needed to keep Tyrion around and his head in tact to avoid death or worse, being married off _again_.

Shae already had the tub filled, Sansa must have slept right through her bustling around, exhausted as she was from the many tears spent. She smiled, weakly but gratefully, as her helped Sansa out of bed and into the steaming water.

Her muscles ached, she wasn't quite sure why, most likely from being so tense throughout the night. She tossed and turned for the most part, only truly falling asleep once it was already near morning. The warm water soothed her back, and she allowed her entire self to submerge under the surface for a moment.

Shae had wet a fresh cloth and began to dab at the crusted blood that had dried around Sansa's wound overnight. She winced as Shae pressed the cloth to it, the ache delving deep within her jaw. She was honestly lucky he hadn't broken it.

"Do you know where my lord husband is?" Sansa whispered into the quiet of the room.

Shae pursed her lips, "I believe he fell asleep in the library again. He's been spending a lot of time there as of late. I saw him this morning, he wishes to see you for lunch."

Sansa's blood ran cold, "Y-you didn't…"

"I didn't tell him anything Sansa."

She tried to hide the relief on her face, which wasn't hard considering she still had the dilemma of seeing him hanging over her head like a sword, "what am I going to tell him?" she mumbled, mostly to herself.

"Theres not much we can, except tell him you fell." Shae said matter-of-factly, as she finished with Sansa's battered lip. She leaned back to admire her handiwork, though her face betrayed nothing.

"Yeah, right, as if he would believe that," Sansa scoffed, bewildered that Shae would even suggest such a ridiculous excuse of a lie.

"He will if I tell him I witnessed it," Shae said quietly, busying herself with arranging clothes from the closet for Sansa to wear that day.

It suddenly dawned on Sansa that perhaps her handmaiden had been doing things that technically didn't fall within her range of duty. The way she raised her voice to Tyrion on the day she found out they were to be wed, the way the two of them look at each other, as though they had a language only the other could decipher. Even when Shae changed the sheets of their bed after their wedding night, she seemed so quick and eager to do so, and Sansa didn't miss the way Shae almost looked pleased that they had not consummated their marriage. She chalked it up to Shae simply being relieved for her, that she didn't have to ensure a night with him, but now Sansa thought it might be a different reason entirely.

"And why," Sansa started quietly, "would my lord husband be so inclined to believe you?"

The room filled with a sudden tension, and the way Shae didn't answer, didn't meet Sansa's gaze, was all the answer she needed.

"Oh for Gods sake," Sansa said, rolling her eyes. She truly didn't care, although she had thought she considered Shae a friend. She would have thought Shae would come to her after news of the betrothal, and she couldn't help but feel slighted, "how long?"

"Long before the betrothal," Shae said quietly, her voice tinged with sadness, an unusual change from the woman's hard demeanor.

Sansa suddenly felt pity for the woman, for she knew what kind of position she was in. She too, was in danger if her secret relationship was found out, and she too, wanted something she could not have. She wondered briefly if Tyrion would mind if she took a lover as well, and quickly squashed the idea because of course he would. Because it's the future _Queen_ they were talking about.

Tyrion's life would not be in danger, Shae's would.

But if Margaery and Sansa were caught, it would mean both of their heads.

She sighed and turned to Shae, "it does not bother me if you and him…I just wish you told me sooner. You deserve to be happy, as does he," she conceded, not wanting to lose the friendship she had with the woman. Besides, her words spoke true, the pair of them had never done anything that could be considered harsh towards her.

Shae turned around then, gown in hand, the tiniest hint of a smile gracing her features, "thank you, Sansa, and I'm sorry. You're right, we should have told you."

Sansa smiled weakly back at her but said nothing. She couldn't escape the claws of tension that crept up her back at the thought of facing Tyrion. She allowed Shae to assist her from the water that had begun to cool off, and begin to dress her in one of the hideous Lannister gowns she had shoved in the closet.

"Do you really think he will believe you?" Sansa asked in a small voice into the quiet of the room.

Shae let out a sigh as she pulled the lace and deftly tied the knots. She rested her hands on Sansa's frail shoulders, the gesture meant to be soothing, yet it wasn't, "no, I don't," she responded quietly, unsurprising to Sansa, "we just have to hope he doesn't question it."

She didn't allow herself that hope, knowing very well that Tyrion was a smart man, more learned than most even. If he didn't question the excuse of her injury, she'd think something was wrong with him.

Tyrion was a more immediate problem, Margaery on the other hand, while less urgent, was much more important to Sansa. After what happened with Joffrey, Sansa felt great difficulty in looking at the woman. The feeling came with guilt that she would think such a way, but she couldn't help but hear Margaery's false laugh to diffuse the situation, echoing in her head like a mantra. It was hard not to see Margaery with the enemy, to put the thought of his hands raking over Margaery's body after he hit Sansa out of her mind.

That image was enough to bring tears to her eyes, as was the very real possibility that she couldn't trust Margaery as much as she initially thought. Perhaps, Margaery's mask was not only reserved for Joffrey, but for Sansa as well.

She wondered what Margaery would gain, leading Sansa on now even though she was no longer to wed Loras, which made her believe that what they shared had to have some semblance of authenticity.

Still, she didn't want to face her, didn't want Margaery to see her like this.

Her next words pained her to say, "If Lady Margaery comes looking for me…" she trailed off, not meeting Shae's eyes in the mirror in front of her.

Shae stepped away then, heading towards the chamber door to lead them to the dining hall, though Sansa was in no mood to eat, "I understand, although, you cannot hide from Lady Margaery forever. Her wedding is tomorrow, I'm sure she needs you."

Sansa's heart lurched painfully along with the jolt that rippled through her stomach at the dooming reminder of what the morrow was to bring. She was feeling torn between feeling devastated from the encounter in Joffrey's chambers, and the guilt that came with her avoidance of Margaery. Surely, she was worried, as worried as Sansa would be had she witnessed Joffrey abused Margaery instead, would she not? The doubt that thrummed in the back of her mind was too much for her to ignore however, and it was this that kept her away still. Perhaps Margaery was down in the dining hall at this very moment, hanging on Joffrey's every word, gushing over their fast approaching wedding day.

"I know," she sighed, "I'm just...I'm not ready. Which is why you'll understand I do not wish to break my fast."

Now Shae was glaring, as was to be expected. Sansa realized just how long she had been dragging this on for, how many excuses she had thrown in her handmaidens face to avoid something as mundane and simple as feeding oneself. She was foolish to think it would go unnoticed, especially now that she was married to Tyrion, and dining with her husband was something that she should be partaking in.

"You didn't break your fast yesterday either."

"Yes, but-"

"Nor the day before."

Sansa internally groaned, and she could feel the defensiveness creeping back into the forefront of her mind, completely and utterly unwilling to have this conversation now, "I don't need to explain myself. Clearly, I am not in any shape to face anyone in that dining hall today. I trust _you_ can come up with an excuse for my absence to my Lord Husband, yes?"

She couldn't deny the guilt she felt for her harsh words; Shae was only trying to help her, and to use her hand maiden's relationship with Tyrion to her own advantage was less than friendly, but Sansa also knew her own limitations. Facing that dining hall, facing Joffrey and Tyrion and Margaery, all at once, was where she had to draw the line today.

Her voice softened, " _please_ Shae, I…I just can't."

Shae's jaw set, and it was glaringly obvious she wanted to argue Sansa's decision, though she chose her better judgement and let it lie, "I will speak to him, tell him that you will see him for lunch."

She said it like a warning, that she would be expected to dine with her husband and finally get some nourishment in her. The thought only made her stomach twist, the never ending guilt and frustration that seemed to well up inside her more often these days only worsened her already poor appetite, and she found herself longing for home cooking from Winterfell.

All she could do was swallow the bile that threatened to come up at Shae's words, and hoped to the Gods Tyrion was smitten enough with her handmaiden not to question their story, and worse still, remain convincing when she encounters him later.

Sansa was a terrible liar, after all.

* * *

The sun was beating down on her, her hair done up in northern fashion doing nothing to lessen the heat, though she didn't feel like following the southern styles any longer. Joffrey once again managed to tear a piece off of her, like the savage beast he was, and now she was left grasping at the feeble remnants that was once Sansa Stark of Winterfell, a lady of a great House.

Even if she was Sansa Lannister, she would always be a Stark. She had to keep reminding herself of this.

The harsh rays also did nothing to assist her desire to eat, either, as the aroma of the assortment of foods laid out before her by Shae was almost enough to make her gag, as though it were all cooking again right before her eyes in the summer heat. She could practically picture the flies crawling over the food, each morsel tainted and dying.

Shae finished setting the final tray, before straightening and looking to the young royal expectantly, "you need to eat something." She was straight to the point this time.

Sansa said nothing, opting to stare at the bleached white table cloth instead. She heard the shift of the tray on the fabric as Shae nudged it toward her, "pigeon pie?" she offered, hopefully.

Sansa couldn't even bring herself to look at it, "no thank you."

Shae let out a huff but she wasn't deterred, instead picking another tray, "lemon cakes?"

Once her favorite, now had her mouth watering in a sickening way. "No thank you," she repeated once again.

Soft footsteps on concrete approached, and her stomach knotted further upon hearing her husbands presence. Shae hadn't a chance to tell Sansa how her conversation with Tyrion went, and Sansa couldn't bring herself to ask out of fear of the possible answer.

"Tell her she needs to eat," Shae said, annoyance laced through her tone. Sansa felt a stab of annoyance of her own at the thought of them teaming up on her on this topic, and her defiance only grew stronger. If the world wanted to be against her, so be it.

"My lady you do need to eat," he said in a low voice, though not unkind.

"I don't need to eat," she said, aware at how stubborn she sounded, though the agitation flaring in her chest wouldn't allow her to care.

Tyrion eyed her for a moment before turning his attention to Shae, "if I could have a moment alone with my wife."

Sansa's blood ran cold and the clamminess in her hands was almost immediate; she was sure she was about to be interrogated by Tyrion Lannister, and this was a battle she surely couldn't win. He would see right through her within the second, and she wasn't sure she could manage any damage control after that.

Shae hesitated, her and Tyrion locked in a stare and for a brief moment, Sansa was relieved that Shae may stay by her side through this-

"She needs to eat," Shae remarked with a final glance to Sansa, much to Sansa's added feelings of betrayal. She couldn't read anything in the woman's eyes as she left.

Tyrion watched as she went, before his eyes flicked back to Sansa, who remained in her steeled resolve of staring at the linen cloth. She felt something warm slip into her hand, and to her surprise, Tyrion had sat in the chair adjacent to her own, and had taken her hand in his in a gesture of comfort.

"I can't let you starve," he said quietly, and she forced her eyes to meet his and was met with a look of concern, "I swore to protect you."

Sansa didn't say a word, for she never asked for this, nor did she ask for Tyrion's protection. If he wished to act like a white knight now, he could fill his small boots for all she cared. She tore away her gaze with ease.

"My lady, I am your husband, let me help you," he almost pleaded, and Sansa couldn't help but feel a twinge of contempt at his words. His House, the Lannister House, was the very cause of her misery. Surely, a man with the intelligence of Tyrion would already know and understand this. Tyrion might not have done anything unkind to her directly, and she knew she was being unfair in associating him with their misgivings, but she couldn't help but lump them in the same category.

When Sansa said nothing, Tyrion's grip left her hand to fall into his lap. She could feel his eyes still on her, studying her face, studying her gruesome injury hidden under the lipstick so diligently applied that very morning. She could feel the next question coming, it hung in the air around her, pressing into the space she was trying to breathe from.

"Shae tells me you fell the night before, Sansa. Is this true?" while she could tell he was trying to keep his voice even, she could hear the undertones of distrust, of disbelief, and that he certainly took the excuse Shae had provided with a grain of salt. With that being said, he was so far handling it better than was to be expected.

"How can you help me?" Sansa said instead, dangerously uncaring of what Tyrion thought of her now, he couldn't force the truth out of her, he would have to take it at face value and accept it for what it was. If he thought she was about to confide in him, he was sorely mistaken.

He poured himself some wine, along with a second goblet for Sansa, for which she couldn't help but feel grateful, "I don't know, but I can try?" he offered.

It was almost enough to make Sansa laugh, as she knew there was no possible way he could help her, unless he had a secret plan to smuggle her to Winterfell that she had no knowledge of, and she knew well enough that it couldn't be true. The weight of her situation set like stone on her chest, crushing her heart into a state of disrepair, and she desperately wished for her mother, her brother, anyone.

"I lie awake all night, staring at the canopy," she said, anger laced in her tone, "thinking about how they died."

Tyrion looked terribly ashamed for a moment, and it made Sansa feel good. He should feel that way. The responsibility of the heinous murders of her family lay solely at House Lannister's studded feet, and she wanted him to be uncomfortable. It was far from getting even, but it was a start.

"I could get you essence of nightshade to help you sleep," he suggested, but Sansa wasn't finished yet.

"Do you know what they did to my brother?" she wasn't sure why she was bringing this up now, perhaps because she hadn't had the opportunity before she was married to Tyrion. Before that, she had no excuse and no desire to speak with any member of their family, and had she spoken out about the deaths of her family, it would probably just put a larger target on her back to be subject to further ridicule and abuse.

Now, she could at least tell Tyrion how she felt, if he so desired to know.

"How they sewed his direwolf's head onto his body?" she continued, her eyes growing misty, and a familiar ache began to build in her throat until it was near impossible to swallow, "And my mother, they say they cut her throat to the bone and threw her body in the river," her voice cracked near the end, the memories painful to relive, especially out loud, especially to a Lannister.

Tyrion looked at his hands a moment, before looking back to her with pity written all over his face, something Sansa didn't want, but would be force fed, "what happened to your family was a terrible crime. I didn't know your brother, he seemed like a good man, but I didn't know him. Your mother, on the other hand, I admired her."

The tears were falling now, at the thought of her sweet mother, the way she held Sansa when she was just small, stroking her Tully red hair and painting wonderful images in her mind.

"She wanted to have me executed, but I admired her," he continued, staring out into the blue of the sea, "she was a strong woman, and she was fierce when it came to protecting her children."

Her lip quivered as a silent sob tore through her, reverberating off her very heart, the ache deep as the cracks within opened wider, until she thought she'd be swallowed by her own misery. Suddenly and achingly, she wished for Margaery, and the thought of the chestnut beauty only served to intensify the hurt.

"Sansa," he said softly, and she dragged her tear filled eyes to his own, "your mother would want you to carry on. You know its true."

And _Gods_ , she hated so much that he was right. That she didn't have any sort of argument against it, because if her mother was to see her now, Sansa knows how disappointed she would be, and it nearly killed her, the knowledge that she had let down her family. Then, one by one, they were cut down, the least deserving and most honorable members of House Stark, leaving Sansa the lone fool.

A fresh wave of sobs threatened to tear from her throat, so she stood abruptly, the desire to escape the situation far too great, "will you pardon me, my lord? I'd like to visit the godswood," she was already walking away, not bothering to wait for an answer.

"Of course, of course," she heard him call, "prayer can be helpful, I hear."

She stopped at the sound of his voice, before turning to him with a tear streaked face, the air around her near suffocating but she choked out a reply nonetheless.

"I don't pray anymore," she said, her voice trembling with emotion, "it's the only place I can go where people don't talk to me."

She didn't wait for a response once again, instead acting on her urge to disappear from his presence, from everyone's presence, and turned on her heel and stormed off in the direction of the godswood, feeling Tyrion's gaze burning into her until she was out of view.

It was a long walk to the godswood, though it didn't bother Sansa in the slightest. She hoped it would finally give her the much needed time to think about everything that has transpired, about Margaery and their rift, and the confusing desire to see her again. Joffrey, and their wedding tomorrow, and she wondered what kind of lover he would be to Margaery, who deserved so much more than whatever it was. While she had taken precautions in case Margaery had come looking for her, Sansa was beginning to doubt she would. She must be terribly busy with tedious wedding preparations, and Joffrey probably had his claws sunk in her for the day. But as the hours wore on, Sansa found herself less opposed to Margery's presence than she was before.

Before she could delve too deep in her problems, a noise from behind had her looking over her shoulder, squinting into the thick shrubbery of the garden for who she assumed would be Tyrion, coming to chase her down after leaving the conversation so sourly.

To her immediate horror, it was not Tyrion, but a larger figure, following her through the winding path of the garden, a path where there were scarce few others around. She picked up her pace, while not breaking into a full sprint as to not encourage the figure to do the same.

She blindly followed the path, the scuffling noises behind her drawing nearer, until she reached an opening where she slowed, trying to decide her next move out of this situation that fell on top of an already horrid day.

Her heart went to her chest when a strong hand came clamping down on her shoulder, and she whirled around to face her for, ready for yet another one of Joffrey's dogs who wanted a piece of her. This time, however, there was no one to save her.

She was surprised, however, when she realized she was not face to face with one of the King's hounds, at least not one she recognized. This man had a large protruding gut, his wild beard covering a reddened, sweaty face. He also reeked of liquor.

"it's alright! It's alright!" He hushed, taking a few paces back from her, obviously reading her frightened face.

"You're drunk," Sansa said matter-of-factly, scrunching her nose at the dirtied man.

"Yes," the man admitted as he swayed in place, "but I have good reason to be. Once I was a knight, now I'm only a fool."

Sansa said nothing, and continued to eye the drunkard in case he made any sudden moves towards her.

"Don't you know me?" he asked, almost as though he were hurt by her obliviousness. And then it dawned on her, behind the large gut and the scraggly beard was Ser Dantos, the disgraced knight she saved from a beheading on Joffrey's name day, by suggesting he take position as a court jester rather than on a pike.

"Ser Dantos, the King's name day celebration, I'm sorry, I should have remembered," she said, genuinely apologetic. It seems the man must be having more than a hard time since that day.

"I can't accept your apology," he said, shaking his head, "I may be a fool, but I'm a living fool thanks to you."

Sansa smiled, relieved that the exchange was heading in a pleasant direction, the first for her today, "anyone would've done the same."

"But only you did," he replied, "I can never repay you, you gave me my life, but this-" he fished in his pocket, pulling out a beautiful jeweled necklace, "-is worth more than my life."

He held it to her, the golden chain glinting in the sunlight, along with the large blue tinged jewels that hung daintily from the gold. She took it gingerly, as though it could crumble in her hands in an instant.

"It belonged to my mother, and her mother before her," he said almost tearfully, "House Hollard was strong once; House on the rise. That's all that's left of those days, thanks to a few sad, fat drunks like me."

Sansa was stunned, "I can't take it," she insisted, holding the necklace back to him, "it's very, very kind of you, but I can't."

"I don't gave anything else left," he pushed back, "that's all. Take it, wear it. Let my name have one more moment in the sun, before it disappears from the world."

Her heart clenched at his speech, as his words hit so close to home with her own life. She was the last of House Stark, and she wondered if her House too, would be one of the greats that have been reduced to nothing but ash. It was a sore thought, to say the least.

She cradled the necklace close, a sad smile dawning her features, "I'll wear it with pride, Ser Dantos."

He smiled, almost relieved that she had taken his offer, and she was glad she did, if it brought him some peace. He gave her a small bow, "I take my leave, Lady Sansa. And I thank you."

She nodded as he walked off, slightly straighter than before, and the encounter left her feeling weirdly better than she had before. Perhaps because it was her only positive encounter of the day. She began to walk off in the direction of the godswood once again, and the throb in her lip with every step she took slowly shook her back to reality, and reminded her why her day was so shit in the first place.

The afternoon was wearing on, and soon she would be forced to dine with her husband once again, this time in the presence of the rest of his family. Sansa couldn't help but think of dangerously drastic ideas at this point, wondering if she could slip away now while everyone was busy eating. If she would be able to get away with it and leave this place, perhaps it was even worth risking her life.

She reached the godswood after some time, the sun nearly setting by this point. She had walked aimlessly for the most part, anything to keep moving to avoid more forced conversations, no matter how pleasant they may be now, she just wasn't in the mood.

Sadly, she knew she could not hide forever.

She kneeled into the lush grass, before the twisted trees that groaned in the wind, as though whispering the secrets of a thousand broken men that had kneeled in her very spot.

Was Sansa broken? She didn't like to think so, instead she liked to think that the fact she was still here meant something. Meant she was stronger than she originally accredited herself. Even after her father's beheading, she cried her tears and kept going. After she was beaten and stripped in front of the court, as the entire room looked on and said nothing. After she was nearly raped by a gang of men, bare on the floor for them to leer at, and she could still feel the iron grip of panic around her throat when she recalled the memory. Still, she survived.

However, after Joffrey's near penetration of that wall and the sting of his jeweled hand against her jaw, as who she thought was her lover looked on, knowing she was there as a legitimate gift given by Joffrey to Margaery, Sansa didn't much feel like surviving anymore.

She had been humiliated beyond belief, her life was in danger, and countless other reasons led her to think that there wasn't much point in going on. A shameful thought, but she couldn't rule it out completely. She no longer had a life, the Lannisters had seen to that.

For the second time that day, she heard footsteps approach, though this time she did not choke on her breath, and her heart did not ramp up as it had before. Instead, a feeling of acceptance came over her, the shame she wrestled with fading away. Whoever approached her could have their piece of Sansa Stark too, if it was to be.

"Sansa."

The voice was melodic and otherworldly, like a soothing balm brushed on burned skin, and this time her heart did skip because she couldn't be prepared for Margaery Tyrell and her soft words and her searing touches that made Sansa weak in ways that even she hadn't been before. She felt her own eyes slide shut and she didn't get up, didn't turn toward the addictive source.

Her lip throbbed again and her eyes began to sting almost immediately, and she felt the deep panic of Margaery seeing her injury. She would stare at it, and it would hurt her, not like it hurt Sansa, but pain nonetheless. If Margaery looked, it made it all the more real, and the chestnut haired girl was a reminder of that.

She didn't move, even when the steps sounded closer.

"Sansa," the voice came again, floating through the warm air into Sansa's head, the groan of the trees long drowned out, "please."

Gods know she wants to let the voice pull her in, to give in with reckless abandon and allow herself to be comforted by the only person who she thought had cared for her, that she hoped still did. Margaery did things to Sansa that she had never experienced with another, and when she tried to picture ever doing them again with someone else, the thought seemed impossible. Margaery had a dangerous hold over Sansa, and she wasn't sure if it was the shame of the knowledge, the fear, or both that kept her rooted in place.

She knew when the hand came to rest gently on her shoulder and she could feel the desperation behind the action, the need practically seeping through Margaery's pores and into Sansa's own skin, for she felt it too, the yearning, the desire.

"Sweet girl," Margaery breathed, and Sansa wanted to be angered by the pet name, but it melted her instead. She knew Margaery wanted her to look, but Sansa feared she might fall apart if she did, and she didn't want to burden Margaery with the pieces.

"Loras is on guard, we won't be disturbed," Margaery whispered soothingly, the hand that had rested on her shoulder now rubbing small, warm circles on her back, "it's just you and I, Sansa. Please, look at me."

She could already feel her eyes filling with watered emotion as she forced them to the right of her, where Margaery had glided down beside her to kneel in the grass along with her.

She took Sansa's breath away as she drank in the sight of her, looking sublime in the setting sun, and she almost forgot why she was avoiding the woman in the first place, until Margaery's eyes dropped to the swell of her lip. Something dark flashed in her eyes, though Sansa couldn't read it once it was gone.

Margaery reached a tentative hand to her cheek, and Sansa surprised herself by not flinching away, instead allowing the soft, trembling palm to rest on her cheek and it was all she could do to not lean into the touch.

"Can I?" Margaery breathed a whisper, inching closer to Sansa's own slowly reddening face. She watched as the Tyrell girl's eyes dropped to her lips once again, though they were pleading this time rather than the anger that had flashed in them moments ago. Sansa felt her head nodding almost imperceptibly on it's own accord, and allowed the familiar scent of rosewater to fill her senses once again.

Margaery closed the space between them, and the rush of her being so close filled Sansa's being as it always did, as sweet as she remembered. She was gentle in her actions, so as not to injure Sansa further. She pressed her lips gingerly to the untouched corner of her mouth, and Sansa couldn't help but return the kiss that she had missed so much.

Her lips shifted to press into the center of Sansa's own, before coming to rest over top the ugly split that had been caused by her soon to be husbands own hand. She lay a light kiss on the mark, and then another, the pain flaring up in a subtle ache though Sansa found she enjoyed the feeling, because it meant she was kissing her lover again.

Margaery's tongue poked gingerly from her mouth, and began to run it gently up the length of the cut, quite literally licking Sansa's wounds, and the act was so intimate to Sansa she felt her stomach knot up deep below, the pain long forgotten as the flame of arousal began to set in. Arousal, met with heart breaking emotion at how Margaery was treating her wound, and the tears filled her eyes with a vengeance.

Before the strangled sob she had been holding painfully in her throat could escape, Margaery's tongue filled her mouth, as gently as her ministrations were before, because this was about healing, not about desire, even if Sansa felt filled to the brim with it now. She could tell this kiss was different from the many they shared before, this one was apologetic and soothing compared to the heated others.

When they parted, less breathless than usual though with the same amount of euphoria, their eyes met for a bare moment before the dam holding Sansa together broke completely and she began to weep in shame, but Margaery was there to hold her, and she did.

She let her forehead fall to the older girls shoulder, her shoulders shaking as her body was wracked with embarrassing sobs, so violent she could barely catch a breath to begin speaking. Margaery cradled her close, and if she didn't know any better she would swear Margaery was overcome with emotion as well, if her uneven breaths were any indication.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Sansa kept repeating, unsure if the apology was for her tears, her avoidance of Margaery, the night before or all three. She could only hope Margaery would understand, even if Sansa didn't understand herself.

Margaery hushed her quickly, pressing her lips to Sansa's temple, "my sweet, sweet girl," Margaery started, her voice breaking with an emotion Sansa never heard before, "the fault lies with me, all of it. I promised you I wouldn't let him hurt you and I…I failed you, S-Sansa," she cried, pressing her cheek into Sansa's hair. Sansa wasn't sure how to respond to Margaery's own outburst, so she did her best to quell her own sobs so she could hear her more clearly.

"I know you have no reason to trust me any longer," Margaery continued, pulling back to grip Sansa's shoulders, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, "but what happened last night will _never_ happen again. I will personally see to it that he will never lay a hand on you again Sansa, do you hear me?"

Her eyes smoldered with determination, the kind only a true Queen would have. While Sansa so desperately wanted to believe her words, she couldn't help the screaming doubt that flooded through her, "H-How?" was all her voice would allow her to manage.

"You just have to trust me, sweet girl, I know it is harder than it sounds. But trust me, and you'll see, I'll not allow any harm to come to you," she sounded as determined as she looked, and she pressed her lips to Sansa's forehead, then her cheek, and back to her lips again. Margaery cast a glance over her shoulder in the direction of the entrance to the godswood, before turning back to Sansa, a look of exhaustion written on her face, "but tonight, tonight I need you. I need to speak with you, I need you before-" her voice hitched, and she needn't say more, for the thought of their wedding tomorrow was looming over Sansa's head like a dark cloud as well. Margaery took a deep breath to steady herself before she continued, "the servants quarters, Elinor's chambers, you know where that is, yes?" Sansa nodded her affirmation, "after dark, when your Lord husband has retired, meet me there. Promise me, Sansa?"

The unfiltered need in Margaery's voice was all Sansa needed to hear. She also ached to know that her absence was likely the reason for Margaery's frantic tone now, as though she were afraid she wouldn't show. It was an unusual display to see Margaery so desperate, when she was usually calm and collected after years of being taught to be just that. She needed Sansa, that much was clear, and she would be lying to herself if she pretended she didn't need this also. They were bound to each other in a way that Sansa doubted she would be to anyone ever again, and for this reason, she already knew her answer.

"I promise."


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay all, this is the chapter where the sexually explicit scenes come into play. If you'd prefer to skip it you may, there is not much importance plot-wise here. For those who do indulge, I hope you enjoy!

_**Sansa** _

Her heart was in her throat as she made her way to the servants chambers, the air around her still and silent save for the soft sound of her footfalls. It was late, nearing midnight, and she had left Tyrion passed out in a drunk stupor on the lounge, as was the usual routine when he didn't fall asleep elsewhere in the Keep.

Her fingers twitched in anticipation as she neared Elinor's door, a little unnerved that the handmaiden was standing there expectantly, but Margaery had summoned her, therefore the girl must be at peace with this. She approached her slowly, a blush spreading on her cheeks at how the situation must look to Elinor, but the girl smiled politely at her as though nothing were amiss.

"Lady Margaery is already inside. You shan't be disturbed, you have my word," the handmaiden whispered as she made to open the door. Sansa swallowed hard at the implication to her words, and she briefly wondered what would greet her on the other side.

She didn't have to wonder long as the door creaked open to reveal the warm, orange glow of candlelight, and the beauty that resided within. She hadn't even realized her feet were already carrying her forward, Elinor and her knowing glances long forgotten.

The future Queen sat in one of the chairs by the table where the light was illuminating from, lighting up her silhouette and casting shadows on the wall, almost as though it were dancing in the weak flame. She turned at the sound of Sansa's entrance, and the first thing Sansa noticed was that Margaery had been crying.

The sound of the door clicked faintly behind her.

Today had marked the first day Sansa has ever seen Margaery shed a tear, and now she had seen it twice. She wasn't completely present the first time, too distraught with her own emotions to fully take in what was happening. This time, while Margaery's beauty still took Sansa's breath away, she decided she very much did not like seeing Margaery cry. It stirred a great upset within her, and she became overcome with pure instinct to take her in her arms, so she hadn't wasted any time crossing the room.

Margaery stood, giving Sansa a smile that was too tight, too forced to even come close to genuine, especially to Sansa. She wrapped her arms around the older girl, burying her head into her neck and pressing her lips to the soft spot behind her ear, relieved to hear the happy purr that escaped Margaery's throat.

"Sansa," she whispered softly, her voice filled with what sounded like relief, "you came."

Sansa pulled back, it was evident that Margaery was distraught, even if she was doing her best to hide it. Her reddened cheeks and glassy eyes were a giveaway in itself, as was the very real fear that Margaery must have felt when she thought Sansa wouldn't show.

"Of course I did," Sansa said in earnest, "though it is quite late. Are you…shouldn't you get some rest? Before tomorrow? You look terribly tired…"

Margaery let out a hollow laugh, "I haven't slept much since I've arrived here I'm afraid. I'll be alright Sansa, I needed to see you."

Sansa understood, as she felt that need as well, when she married her own husband. It was Margaery who kept her same whenever she thought she was spiraling out of control, when she got lost in her own emotions during that horribly stressful time of her life.

"I'm here," she assured her, taking the older girls hands in her own. She waited patiently for her to speak, it was clear Margaery had something on her mind she wanted to say, something that was weighing on her heavily. When their eyes met, Margaery's started to well with tears again, and she tore her hands from Sansa's and turned away, hiding her shame.

Sansa didn't want Margaery to feel she had to hide her vulnerability around her, as she had always assured Sansa that it was alright for her to do so. She also didn't want to approach the girl too swiftly in fear she would close off, to shield Sansa from whatever was burdening her so.

"You don't have to be afraid Margaery," Sansa breathed, "I'm not going anywhere."

The older girl did not turn, though her shoulders raised with a great sigh, looking as though they were carrying the world upon them.

"I think you know," she began quietly, and Sansa found herself holding her breath, not wanting to miss a word spoken, "that as the weeks went on, since we met, you've become very dear to me Sansa. More than that, even. This-" she turned now, and Sansa's knees were weak at the mere sight of her, "-whatever _this_ is, it's more than just in passing, more than that of a mere bed mate to seek relief behind a husbands back, I think you know this to be true."

Margaery said the words with such conviction she almost missed the small hint of fear in her voice, the question that she was really asking. But of course, Sansa didn't need for her to say any of it at all, because she had lived it too, and it was knowledge she already possessed. She had known it with every pang of jealousy that gnawed at her chest when she saw Margaery with Joffrey, her own intended. She had known it every time Margaery set her aflame with her touch, and the cold longing she felt when they parted.

"I do," she said, matching her tone, her eyes locked on Margaery's, "of course I do. This-" she gestured between them, "is _everything_."

Margaery looked like she very much wanted to come back to Sansa then, she even took a half step forward before she remembered why she was here. Sansa was no stranger to the way their chemistry had the ability to distract so easily.

"When it comes to those I care about, there is nothing, _nothing_ , that will stop me from protecting them. And I want you to remember that Sansa. Remember-" she choked up then, bringing a hand to her mouth as she looked away, leaving Sansa's heart to break, "that no matter what happens tomorrow, everything I do, I do it with your best interests at heart. Do you believe me?"

Sansa was through doubting Margaery's intentions. She owed her better than that, Margaery deserved better than that, "I believe you, I trust you, Margaery. I know you would never hurt me."

Margaery's eyes dropped to Sansa's split lip as they did before, and something twisted in the pit of Sansa's gut, and she swallowed the discomfort that sat in her throat, "I'm alright, you don't have to look at it like that," she said gently, the guilt evident in Margaery's shining pupils. "What happened last night, it wasn't your fault Margaery, you can't blame yourself."

Margaery hugged herself, and Sansa tried to coax her to meet her gaze, but she wouldn't budge.

"I…I understand that you wanted your space. But I was also afraid…"

Sansa closed the small distance between them now, taking Margaery's trembling hands again, this time managing to capture her eyes. She felt a stab of guilt for running off on Margaery, realizing that this was not the first time she had done this.

"I shouldn't have ran away like that. From you. I just…I didn't want you to see me like this. It's hardly the first time it's happened but I know how it must have made you feel to witness it."

Margaery's jaw set and the look in her eyes was far different than the warmth she usually found there, and she found it slightly unnerving, "you will never suffer at the hands of anyone under my watch. You have my word."

Sansa gave her a weak smile, bringing her hands to her lips to press feathered kisses to her knuckles, watching Margaery visibly ease with the action, "you seem to think you'll have an awful lot of pull with Joffrey, even as Queen."

Margaery's smile was more like her usual self, much to Sansa's quiet relief, "I have more pull than you know, dear wolf."

She guided them to the bed then to sit, as they hadn't since Sansa's arrival. She wondered briefly about poor Elinor still outside, unable to use her own chambers.

"Your handmaiden doesn't mind we're in here?" she questioned, glancing to the door.

"Elinor is a dear friend of mine, she wanted to do this for me, she knows what I must face tomorrow," Margaery sighed, "Gods Sansa, how I wish it were you cloaking me instead," she spoke wistfully, and Sansa's heart jumped at her words as the sudden image of cloaking a blushing Margaery stood at the forefront of her mind.

"You would…marry me?" Sansa asked quietly, not quite believing her ears. Sure, Margaery was very open regarding her affections for Sansa, but Sansa never thought anyone would want to wed her, much less the Rose of Highgarden. Happiness bloomed in her chest, albeit bittersweet, knowing that such a thing could never be possible, no matter how much she wished it were true.

Margaery smiled warmly, idly playing with Sansa's with her own, "you sound surprised?"

"To be honest, I am," Sansa bit her lip, "I don't understand why."

Margaery brought a hand to her lips, pressing a light kiss to her palm, "don't sell yourself short. You're everything I could want in a partner. Kind, understanding, strong as the wolf of her House," Sansa blushed at the compliment, her eyes growing hazy listening to Margaery's praises. Margaery shifted closer, the sweet scent of summer roses engulfing her senses and causing her pace to quicken further, "your beauty goes unmatched by any woman here in Kings Landing, and above all else you make me happy, Sansa. Happier than I could've ever expected to be in this place."

Sansa beamed at the older woman as she listed her reasoning's, and she couldn't help but feel like Margaery was in her own mind, as these were all the things she thought about the Tyrell too.

"You were wrong about one thing, though," Sansa replied coyly.

"What's that?"

"My beauty can't possibly go unmatched while you still reside here," she smiled, surging forth to kiss the girl's throat, relishing in the delightful squeal she elicited from the older girl. Margaery pulled them down to the sheets, and Sansa longed to remain there forever with her beautiful rose.

"You sure have a way with words, Lady Sansa," Margaery jested, "I should like to see how you would fare as Queen. Wouldn't that be something? Queen of the North, spread out on a beautiful bed of furs for the taking," Margaery purred as she reversed their roles, leaning over Sansa whose back was flush against the surface of the bed and began to nip lovingly at her neck.

Sansa giggled, "Queen of the North?" she scoffed, "I'm afraid that's a far cry from my current position here. I doubt the North will ever see it's independence again," she said sadly, though she couldn't help but keep the smile on her face with Margaery in such close proximity.

"Don't be so sure," Margaery said, gazing down at her, "you never know what the future may bring."

Sansa reached for her, tucking a chestnut strand behind Margaery's ear, "I try not to allow myself much hope. But it would be wonderful…" she trailed off, a sudden thought coming to her, "if I should ever have the chance to return home, would you want me to go?"

It was Margaery's turn to smile sadly, no doubt thinking of what it would feel like to lose one another should the opportunity ever come up. It had been Sansa's dream to return home ever since her nightmare began here, but with Margaery now such an important figure in her life, going home would be bittersweet at best.

"Of course I would," Margaery said quietly, the smile fading slightly much to Sansa's concern, "I would miss you dearly. So much so that…" she shook her head, not wanting to elaborate further, "I want you to return to your home Sansa. If such an opportunity ever arose, I would hope you would take it. Besides, it's not like we could never see each other again."

"We would find a way," Sansa said quietly, echoing Margaery's own words back to her, though she desperately wished that Margaery would consider coming with her. It was just that, wishful thinking, for she knew Margaery would not give up being Queen, nor would Sansa ever ask that of her.

Margaery leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to Sansa's lips, "of course we would," she answered back. The air around them grew thick, and Sansa briefly wondered how their conversations seemed to always steer towards that of unpleasantness, when she realized it was because they knew their lives were not going to be lived happily. That when they spoke together, they spoke of longing for things that can never be, for each other, and Sansa hated this more than she should be accepting of it. It pained her to know that tomorrow Joffrey was going to take Margaery as his own, when she should not be rightfully his. She wants to be Sansa's. She _should_ be Sansa's.

As though reading her mind, Margaery dipped her head to press her forehead against Sansa's, her gaze so penetrating that it nearly overwhelmed Sansa, but she held her eyes.

"I want you, Sansa," Margaery sighed, the need laced through her tone evident to Sansa's ears, "last night made me realize that Joffrey has the capability to take you away from me. That I…I could lose you. I won't let him do that, Sansa, but I'm also through with not voicing what I want, through with not taking chances," she cupped Sansa's cheek with her warm hand, her thumb running ever so lightly over the cut on Sansa's lip. Her pupils grew in size, darkening her eyes, though not with anger or frustration this time. This time it was a hunger, a growing need, a look that Sansa wanted to burn into her memory.

She heard Margaery loud and clear. Life was too short, increasingly so, to wait and never say the things that needed to be said. To not take that chance, together. While before Margaery was cautious in the idea of them sleeping together, to commit the acts that cannot be undone, she seemed to have taken a new stance on that topic, one that Sansa was not about to argue.

"If you want me," Sansa breathed, wetting her lips with searing anticipation, "I'm yours."

Margaery looked like a woman awakened as she surged forth to press a searing kiss to Sansa's lips. Sansa sighed into the kiss, opening her mouth to allow the woman access with her tongue. It felt heavenly when Margaery filled her mouth so, causing a build of pressure in her nether regions. Margaery retracted from the kiss so she could once more focus on Sansa's injury, her tongue soothing the aching split in a way no balm or ointment could.

"Feels good," Sansa gasped out as Margaery gripped her shoulders, suckling on the wound gently as though to draw out any poison's that came with the horrible memory. Her undergarments were thoroughly soaked, and she felt a thrilling rush at the thought of Margaery soon removing them entirely.

"Sansa," Margaery said softly, as she pulled back to search her face, "are you sure?"

Sansa had been sure long before now. Especially since marrying Tyrion. If this was the direction her life was to go, she would rather experience what's supposed to be a beautiful thing with Margaery.

"I am," she said, without a hint of hesitation.

Margaery smiled beautifully, before taking her hands and standing from the bed, "come here," she whispered. She turned Sansa around, and the anticipation was nearly suffocating now, especially now that she could no longer see Margaery. She felt warm hands resting at the laces of the dress, before her breath ghosted her ear, "may I?"

Sansa swallowed and whispered an affirmation, and the laces began to tug gently as Margaery slowly untied them from their place. Sansa is sure her blush had spread to the rest of her body, for she felt as though she were on fire.

The gown loosened, and Margaery began to peel it off of her, the act the most sensual and exhilarating moment of her life thus far, though she had a feeling that was about to be surpassed. She was left in nothing but her thin shift underneath. Slowly, a wave of self conscious doubt began to ripple through her, and her heart thudded madly in her chest when Margaery's hands reached for her under clothes.

Margaery stood close behind her as the shift was pulled over her head, leaving her bare for the older girl to see. Her small, pink nipples stood stiff in the night air, and when Margaery's soft grip pulled her around she couldn't help but to cover herself with her arms as she blushed furiously.

Margaery's gaze was soft, patient. She approached Sansa slowly, taking her head in her hands and capturing her lips in a deep kiss, her whisper filling her mouth, "do you mind?"

She turned, raising the braid of chestnut hair from her back to reveal the laces of her own gown, and Sansa realized this was Margaery's way of getting her to open up, to be in control of something. She would have to remove the arms covering her chest to accomplish her task, and this would result in Margaery baring all as well, so Sansa wouldn't be alone in the act.

Her hands were shaking as she raised them to the fabric, undoing the knots painfully slow as to not slip up and make a mistake. She let the gown slip off her to pool at her feet, revealing sun kissed skin underneath. Sansa gave into the urge to press her lips to Margaery's shoulder, the smell of light sweat mixed with flora enough to make her weak in the knees. She assisted her in removing her shift, and Sansa marveled at how her chestnut hair fell in waves cascading down her smooth, toned back.

Sansa isn't prepared for when she turns.

With the breath stolen from her lungs she let her mouth fall open, the woman in front of her surely not of this earth, rather more like a fever dream, and she decided that this would be the memory she would hold onto if she were to die tomorrow.

Margaery had taken her lip in her teeth, her eyes ablaze with lust, and Sansa couldn't stop her own eyes from raking over the future Queen, drinking in the sight of her as though she would disappear. The milky expanse of skin gave way to soft, delicate breasts and a toned stomach, and when she reached the patch of chestnut curls at the apex of her thighs Sansa felt her own grow wet with arousal, and suddenly she had forgotten all about her own state of undress.

Before she could react Margaery was pressing against her, wrapping her arms around Sansa's slender neck. The older woman's shorter stature allowed her perfect access to her clavicle, where she began to suckle on the skin, and Sansa thought her legs might give out as a bolt of pleasure shot between her legs. Margaery's burning skin on hers was nothing short of divine.

The sensation of their breasts pressed together had Sansa's juices nearly running down her thighs, and she desperately wished to know what it meant, what came next. Margaery tilted her head upwards to steal Sansa's lips in a fiery battle of their tongues, before she gasped into her mouth, _"bed._ "

Sansa couldn't help the soft sound that escaped her lips when Margaery gently pulled them to the sheets, and she found herself enveloped in the sweet essence of the older girl, as though she were surrounding her completely and Sansa allowed herself to be lost in the one place she felt safe anymore.

She buried her cheek in the soft skin of Margaery's neck as the other girl ran her tongue along her earlobe, and Sansa had to squeeze her eyes shut as the senses began to overload her entire being. She grasped her hands for leverage, gripping Margaery's shoulders harder than she ought to, but it didn't seem to bother her.

Margaery's lips returned to her own, prying them open for entry and began lapping at the roof of her mouth, and the noise that escaped Margaery's throat was a wonderful sound Sansa had not yet experienced, and she couldn't wait to hear it again.

Margaery sat up, now straddling Sansa who was breathless below her, gazing up at the naked goddess she had grown so fond for. Margaery grasped one of Sansa's hands, that had been sitting limp at her side, and pulled it up to her breast until Sansa's hand was cupping the soft mound.

Sansa felt her breath catch, unable to take her eyes off Margaery, as the older woman's eyes slid shut when Sansa gave the mound an experimental squeeze. Liking the effect it had on the Tyrell, she shifted her hand to take the stiff peak of her breast between her fingers, brushing her thumb over the protuberance eliciting a sharp gasp from her.

"Do you like my body, Sansa?" she asked in a breathless whisper that ghosted from her lips into the quiet air, and she looked magnificent in the warm glow of the candlelight, the flame reflecting against the sheen of sweat that began to form on her heated skin. Sansa loved it more than anything she had witnessed before.

"It's perfect," she whispered, an exhilarated grin forming on her face.

Margaery bent down, her eyes never leaving Sansa's, as she wrapped her lips around her right nipple and ran the flat of her tongue over the hardening nub.

"Margaery!" she gasped, her hips arching upwards, feeling an urge explode in her center that was near maddening. The brunette soothed her ministrations, circling the stiff peak with a gentle tongue, every so often running the flat against it causing a jerk that started in Sansa's abdomen.

" _Hah-ahhh_ ," Sansa lost the ability to speak, and could only communicate in the form of sharp breath's and incoherent cries. When Margaery first began to suck lightly on her breast, her hands flew to her brunette tresses, locking her fingers in trying not only to ground herself, but to keep Margaery from stopping whatever it was that had her feeling so surreal.

Margaery let out a guttural moan as Sansa's nails dug in her scalp, and for a moment she unlatched from her breast to turn her attention to the other, and Sansa was sure she saw fire behind her eyelids as her warm mouth engulfed the new skin.

Her hips arched again, desperate to seek some relief from the tingling pressure between her legs. She very much enjoyed what Margaery was currently doing, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to focus with the pounding in her center.

Meanwhile, the hand that wasn't propping Margaery up was raking over her body, her nails sending shivers down her burning skin, and Sansa knew where she wanted it to go.

" _Gods_ , Sansa," Margaery breathed against her breast, before coming up to nip at her pulse. Her thigh pressed into Sansa's center, much to Sansa's own relief. She felt her hips moving on their own accord, pressing upwards into the toned muscle seeking the desperately needed contact, "I never wanted anything so bad. Sansa, I _need_ you."

Margaery was practically moaning in Sansa's ear, making it very difficult for her to think with the thigh pressed between her legs, and the cooling air on her slick nipples. She tried to let her body speak for her, pressing herself into Margaery again, " _please_ ," was all she managed.

Margaery's eyes were dark, "Do you want me to touch you, Sansa? Do you want this?"

She knew Margaery was just making sure, and it warmed Sansa's heart to know Margaery cared so deeply for her that she would always take this at Sansa's pace. It only further cemented her feeling of certainty, that this was what she wanted. It was all she would ever want.

"Yes, Margaery, _please_ ," part of her felt foolish for begging so, but she didn't know how else to communicate her need.

Margaery smiled beautifully, and she leaned forward to take Sansa's lips again, this time a little slower, as though she were trying to pour all the care in the world into the action, and she had Sansa melting. She almost didn't notice the hand that had been resting lightly on her stomach had began to drift downward, smooth nails raising goosebumps on her skin along the way.

When she had nearly reached the red curls that lay below, Sansa hated how her thighs began to tremble slightly, but Margaery simply stopped the movement of her hand and rubbing a few soothing circles on Sansa's abdomen before continuing.

"You can trust me, Sansa, it will feel good, that I promise you. Anytime you want to stop, we stop."

Sansa swallowed, her eyes shining with emotion at the sheer gentleness that was Margaery, but she nodded her agreement, the anticipation too great to even think of wanting to turn back now.

The hand continued down the soft expanse of skin above the tuft of hair that was already soaked with desire. When she reached the folds of her womanhood, gently prying her open with her fingers, Sansa couldn't help the shuddering breath that escaped her. Margaery too, seemed pleased by what she found, as she moaned deep in Sansa's ear.

Sansa's nails dug into Margaery's back, desperately seeking purchase as she bucked into the hand that was slowly circling the nub within her folds, and she felt as though her world were fading in and out. It was unlike any feeling Sansa could ever even dream up in her own mind, and everything she had been taught growing up made no mention of the pure ecstasy behind the act of lovemaking. Perhaps, it was because words could do no justice for what Margaery was doing to her now.

She began to whimper, what started out as an escaped whine slowly began to huff out with every breath she took. She was surprised she was still breathing at all, for the air she _did_ manage to take in was pained and laboring.

"Ah! Ahh! _Mmmpppff-Margaery_ -" she was now almost sitting upright, the spasms shocking through her body making her muscles tighten, and Margaery's other arm wrapped around her shoulder and pulled her close to her, until their breasts were pressed together and Sansa was breathing hard into the crook of her neck.

"I've got you, sweet girl, I've got you," Margaery whispered as Sansa gripped her impossibly tighter, her whimpers growing louder in Margaery's skin. They rocked together in a beautiful rhythm, their bodies sleek with sweat and arousal, and Sansa had never felt so uninhibited in her life. Margaery's words gave her something to hold onto while the world exploded around her.

"Sansa," Margaery breathed, and Sansa almost didn't hear her over the wave of pleasure that crashed through her body after her skilled hand ran over a particularly sweet spot, "I'm going to go inside you. I'm going to make you mine."

Sansa only nodded, and quickly she did, for she didn't want to wait another second to give Margaery the most personal part of her. The thought of them being bonded in this whole new way sent a fresh wave of juices spilling forth into Margaery's hand, and she flexed her hips upwards again, to let her know how badly she needed this.

When the first finger pressed against her entrance, Sansa had a brief moment of panic run through her, but she reminded herself that this was Margaery, and she would take care of her.

" _Agh_!" A strangled sob tore from her throat as Margaery penetrated her up to the second knuckle, a flash of pain tearing through her nether regions at the site of the intrusion. Margaery's mouth was on her own, soothing and distracting from the pain.

Margaery began to rock back into their rhythm once again, and Sansa was surprised at how quickly the pain gave way to waves of pleasure, and she hadn't even realized Margaery's digit was now fully inside of her womanhood.

"Oh, ohhh, _Gods_ , please-" Sansa wasn't sure what she was asking for, but when Margaery shifted slightly so that her palm was now massaging the sensitive nub between her folds, while her finger pumped inside her, she knew that whatever desperate need that had been hitting her since she arrived was about to be met.

She cried out as wave after spastic wave began to assault her body, and she gripped onto Margaery once again and pressed her lips into her neck.

"Margaery-" she leaned, her words muffled in Margaery's skin, "S-something's happening… _oh_ ," she trailed off, the fire in her belly stoked by another skillful brush of Margaery's palm. Margaery reassured her in hushed breaths as she inserted a second finger into Sansa's core, and Sansa's jaw went slack as a shriek tore from her lips.

Margaery was picking up her pace now, her breathing ragged in Sansa's ear, "let go, sweet girl, I've got you here. Come for me, Sansa."

Sansa desperately wanted to please Margaery, and she knew it wouldn't be difficult, as the pressure surmounting in her core was about to give. Margaery's hands worked with unmistakable intent, and Sansa matched her tempo as another whimper escaped her lips, turning into a keening noise as Margaery's fingers went impossibly _deeper_.

"Yes, _yes_ , Margaery! Something-it's-!" she couldn't finish whatever incoherent sentence it was that she had started, for white light began to explode behind her eyelids, and the pressure that had been building behind a dam within her abdomen broke violently, erupting chaos deep in her loins causing heaps more of her arousal to gush into Margaery's soft hand and the sheets below. Her words were turned into a sharp cry that echoed through the room.

Her body was riddled with aftershocks of whatever that was, her first orgasm, given to her by the future Queen. But Margaery was there to hold her tightly as sobs in the form of gasping breaths were torn from Sansa's swollen lips. She couldn't help but weep in the beauty that was Margaery Tyrell and the gift she had given her.

Margaery was peppering kisses on Sansa's face, over her wet eyelids and down along her jaw bone until Sansa's eyes fluttered open. Margaery was beautiful, looking as flushed and excited as Sansa felt, and she couldn't help but grab Margaery's head and bring her lips to her own, trying to communicate her thanks that she couldn't put into words.

Margaery purred, "you're amazing, sweet girl. Did you enjoy that?"

Sansa felt like anything she said would be terribly understated, but she tried all the same, "Margaery, I…I never knew it could feel this way," she breathed, the tears pricking at her eyes again, "I don't ever want to lose this."

Margaery cupped her cheek, looking into her eyes as though she were the only woman in existence, "I'll be here as long as you want me, Sansa." The words bloomed warmth in Sansa's heart.

Sansa eyed her, as she lay propped on an elbow gazing down at Sansa's flushed body, and Sansa's own gaze couldn't help but explore the Tyrell's body now that she had more of an opportunity to do so. Her milky breasts heaved slightly with every breath she took, and Sansa very much wanted to see what sort of sounds she could get out of Margaery if she touched them.

Margaery saw her staring, a coy smile spreading on her face, "It's alright if you're exhausted Sansa. We don't have to-"

"No," Sansa said softly, quickly, "No, I'm not tired. Not anymore."

She hooked her arm underneath Margaery, flipping them until she was on top, the giggles tumbling from Margaery's lips like music to her ears.

"I quite like when you take control," she said so freely, her face lit up in utter delight. Sansa first blushed at the compliment, but it quickly turned to embarrassment when she realized she probably wasn't going to live up to Margaery's expectations in that regard. Frankly, she had no idea what she was doing.

"I…" she murmured, her voice riddled with insecurity, and she began to chew her bottom lip out of nervous habit. Her face began to burn and she broke away from Margaery's gaze, frantically trying to come up with something.

"Sansa," Margaery purred, "there is no wrong you can do. Just do whatever you would like done to yourself."

Sansa swallowed hard, a fierce roiling gathering in the pit of her stomach as she leaned down to capture a stiff nipple in her mouth. Margaery tasted slightly of sweat, but Sansa found her taste wonderfully addictive. She hardened her tongue and ran patterns across the peak of the nub, and _Gods,_ the sounds Margaery made were enough to bring Sansa's arousal back on edge like a sword to her gut, and Sansa wanted to chase that feeling.

 _"Ah!_ Sansa…shit, that feels good…" Margaery sighed as she tangled her hands in Sansa's hair, and Sansa's stomach rolled as the curse fell so unbidden from Margaery's lips, and she very badly wanted to watch Margaery come undone just as she had.

The air around them is static as Margaery begins to writhe underneath her, her hips twisting in desperation to try and find some friction to relief her burning center, and Sansa wasn't going to make her wait too long.

She detached from Margaery's nipple, the older girl letting out a whine at the loss, but Sansa immediately soothed her with her lips, the cry lost in Sansa's mouth. She felt as though they were blended together, their arousal becoming one, as Sansa felt as though just watching Margaery would put her over the edge.

She continued to kiss her deeply, she enjoyed being on top as Margaery strained upward to try and taste _more_ of Sansa, wanting her tongue even deeper than it was, as though she couldn't get enough of her. It made Sansa feel needed, desirable.

Just as Margaery had, Sansa began to run the hand that wasn't holding her weight down to Margaery's waistline, her fingers dancing over the jut of her hip bone, enjoying the way the muscles spasmed beneath her touch.

She broke the kiss to look in Margaery's eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation. She was found with nothing but unbridled lust, with perhaps even a hint of something more. Margaery looked at Sansa as though what they had was going to last forever. It was the same look she would see in her father's eyes whenever he would return home to their mother, after being gone for so long, and they would grasp onto each other as though they never would part again. Margaery was looking at Sansa with what she could only perceive as love.

She pushed the thought away, and didn't bring it up. She didn't want to ruin what was a beautiful moment between them, if Margaery didn't feel that way. But Sansa didn't think she could deny it, all she felt in this moment was love for the girl.

She loved Margaery Tyrell.

Margaery arched into her, her nails digging into Sansa's shoulders, "Sansa, I need you. Touch me-" Margaery's hand went to her arm, attempting to guide her down to her dripping center. Margaery's face was flush with need, her breath coming out in desperate huff's, and Sansa didn't want to deny her any longer.

She delved her fingers into the soft, wet folds that was Margaery's most private of areas. She reveled in the feeling of the slick fluid that was practically oozing from her pulsing center, and Sansa felt a swell of pride that she had been the cause of Margaery's arousal, how ready she was for her. She wondered if Joffrey would ever be able to get her as wet as Sansa had, and with newfound confidence she doubted it.

Margaery whimpered beautifully as Sansa explored her, running the tips of her fingers along the length of the slit, determining where her opening was with a slight nudge and a gasp from Margaery. From there, she danced her fingers upward, until she found a harder nub of skin, and as she pressed along the mound Margaery cried out her name in reckless abandon.

" _Sansa_!" her breath caught, and she arched her hips into Sansa's hand with a different vigor than before, "right there!"

Sansa had adored the way Margaery called her name and jerked into her touch, though she did want to try something different, to take what Margaery had taken from her. No, Sansa definitely willingly gave it to her, and she was sure Margaery wanted to do the same.

She shifted her hand until her palm was pressed firm against the nub that had gradually swelled, and let the tip of her middle finger rest at Margaery's dripping entrance.

"Margaery?" she breathed out the question, not needing to wait for an answer as Margaery surged forward and took her mouth hungrily, her tongue stretching to the back of her throat, and Sansa wanted to fill Margaery just as she was.

She plunged a finger gingerly into her opening, causing the older girl to buck and gasp into her, her nails clawing desperately at her shoulders, and she sunk her teeth into the soft skin above Sansa's pulse.

" _Mmmpf_!" Margaery grunted as she bit into Sansa, stifling a scream as her own pain dissolved into pleasure when Sansa began to gently pump her finger in a little further, just as Margaery had shown her. Sansa gasped at the jolt of pain from Margaery's teeth, but she found she quite liked the rush of the stinging bite mixed with the soothing warmth of her lips. It was almost fascinating, this new discovery, and she would have to put it away for later. The pain only seemed to add to the experience.

She pressed her palm more firmly against the sensitive nub, and began to rub small circles as she filled Margaery's womanhood, her finger stretching to the knuckle as Margaery's cries became louder and more defined.

She curled her finger, merely trying to explore every inch inside of the girl, but she must have hit something because Margaery _screamed_ in pleasure, in a way Sansa hadn't heard thus far.

" _Fuck_!" Margaery cursed, her voice breaking, and she gripped Sansa's arm in place, "don't stop, don't you _dare_ stop, Sansa!"

There was no way she was about to stop, not when her lover was so close to the same climax that Sansa had felt, and she wanted to experience every moment. She found herself afraid to blink, to even miss one second of the display was a heartbreaking thought.

She inserted another finger, the feel of Margaery's slick walls tightening around her digits was enough to make her head spin and her own arousal run fresh again. She began to pump her fingers faster, Margaery's juices now coating her hand as she palmed her sensitive hood furiously.

Margaery bucked into her as her eyes slammed shut and she let out another muffled squeal into Sansa's neck. Sansa kissed the next scream right off her lips, wondering suddenly if anyone would be able to hear them, but couldn't bring herself to care, Margaery's noises were far too important to her.

Margaery was gripping the sides of Sansa's face as though she were holding on for her very life, and once Sansa began to curl her fingers around that sweet spot Margaery loved even deeper, the guttural moan that tore from her lips was the most beautiful sound of all. She was panting into Sansa's mouth, her wails getting lost inside of her, the pressure too great to continue to lock her lips to Sansa's.

"Sah-Sansa! Sansa, I'm going to come!" she cried desperately, and without warning she took Sansa's bottom lip so hard in her teeth she was sure she must have drew blood, the feeling magnifying the ecstasy tenfold as the pain maximized the pleasure. She screamed in between clenched teeth, and Sansa was gasping with her, completely enraptured in the undoing of Margaery Tyrell.

It was nothing compared to the curious event happening down below, for with a final breathless scream liquid began to squirt forth from Margaery's cunt, likened to that of a waterfall, for it was the first thing that came to Sansa's mind. The hot liquid jetted up her arm, splashing her bare thighs and leaving a sizable puddle below. Sansa could cry with the beauty of it, the knowledge that she had done that to her, and whatever just happened to Margaery was decidedly the most erotic thing Sansa had witnessed in her short life.

Margaery whimpered as she threw her arms around Sansa's neck, pulling her down to her as they collapsed in a slick heap in the sheets. Sansa wanted to see her face in post coital bliss, but when she leaned back she saw that Margaery had looked terrible embarrassed. The older girl rubbed her thighs together self consciously, her gaze darting to the ruined sheets.

"I…" she panted, still trembling with aftershocks Sansa reached for her cheek to run a soothing stroke down it, "I didn't know _that_ would happen…"

Sansa hadn't seen Margaery express such vulnerability before; in bed, she had exerted a great deal more confidence than Sansa felt that she herself had, until her climax. Sansa thought her orgasm was the most awe inspiring display she had ever experienced with the woman, so she didn't think twice when she took the hand that had been inside Margaery, still slick with her desire that had spilled forth onto her, and placed the fingers curiously in her mouth.

She wasn't sure if she did it to ease Margaery's tensions, or if she was simply overwhelmed with the desire to do so, but she had a feeling it was the latter.

She sucked her fingers clean, her eyes never leaving Margaery's, whose gaze was beginning to darken again, her jaw going slack as she watched the lewd action of Sansa drawing her fingers from her mouth, licking every last drop of her arousal from her hand.

"Sansa," she moaned deliciously, her voice drawing out thick with desire.

"You taste wonderful," Sansa said earnestly, "like summer. Like everything good. I want…I want to watch you do that again, except next time I want to…to taste it." Her face reddened as she finished her speech, unsure if what she was saying would be construed as weird, but it was truly what she desired. She felt comfortable sharing those fantasies with Margaery.

Margaery's embarrassment, which had dissolved into arousal, was now dissolving into the sweetest smile that put the sun to shame, "I would love that, Sansa. I want to do _everything_ with you."

Margaery pulled her down to her once again, kissing her with such passion that Sansa thought her heart may burst. She wanted to lose herself in this moment, wanted to forget about the realities that threatened to tear apart the life they have built for themselves here in this little room. Unfortunately, tomorrow came faster than either of them wanted it to, and that even the most wonderful things couldn't last forever. If anything, those were the thing's that ended faster than anything.

"Sansa," Margaery keened as she let her forehead rest against Sansa's, "we must be going to our own chambers." Sansa felt it was too soon, after experiencing such mind blowing relations with the girl, it was as though something wonderful was just discovered and she felt as though she had no time to thoroughly explore it. But she knew Margaery was right, and if they had any hope of doing this again, they could not forget about their duties, as much as Sansa wanted to damn them all.

"I know," Sansa said, and she was surprised at the sting of tears that crept into her eyes. She tried to tell herself she wouldn't make this hard for Margaery, but she couldn't help it. She was too weak.

"It will be alright, sweet girl," Margaery whispered, her thumbs sweeping away the tears that threatened to fall, "I will think of this all the day tomorrow. And as with your wedding, I will find you after. No matter what happens tomorrow, I will be yours. Remember that, Sansa."

Sansa sniffed, leaning into Margaery's soft touch, "I could never forget."

Margaery gave her a chaste kiss and began to rise from the bed, the sheets slipping off of her revealing the goddess beneath.

Sansa followed in suit, albeit more reluctantly. They began to help one another back into their gowns, though the shift in dynamic between them was palpable. Their touches lingered longer, in fact they were unable to keep their hands off of each other. It took much longer to dress than it should have, for the kept stopping to press kisses to whatever bare expanse of skin they could still find, to giggle and pull one another closer to bury their faces in each other's hair, trying to breathe in the memory of this night.

Margaery gathered the sheets off the bed, and Sansa couldn't help but feel another pang of guilt for poor Elinor, who would no doubt be taking care of laundering the evidence of their night of passion. She squashed it down fairly quickly, whenever she thought of how she just had the future Queen.

"Loras is standing guard the servant quarters," Margaery said, "he will escort us to avoid any questions being asked. It will simply look like I am confiding in a friend the night before my wedding."

She approached Sansa, fixing her hair slightly back into the elegant style it once was before their lovemaking had mussed it, "you ready?" she asked sadly.

She wasn't. She wasn't ready to return to the real world, wasn't ready to watch Margaery marry a monster tomorrow, cementing her life with the Lannister's in Kings Landing. But Margaery needed her to be strong, for it was Margaery whose life was about to change drastically, Margaery who would have to lay her head next to that beast this time tomorrow.

She swallowed the lump of emotion that began to form in her throat, and forced a smile instead, the lie playing easier on her lips than expected, "I am."


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think everyone has been waiting for this one! I just wanted to let you all know, we will have our first time skip next chapter, and another one shortly after that. I wanna erase the cold, dark years they spend apart XD. ALSO, we actually only have about six chapters left. I know, so sad, but they are very long and very enjoyable!  
> Happy reading!

_**Sansa** _

"From House Tyrell, and the people of the Reach, Your Grace it is my honor to present you with this wedding cup. May you and my daughter Margaery drink deep and live long."

Mace Tyrell's words, along with the fake plastered grin on his face, was almost enough to make Sansa's nails break as she gripped her chair in seething anger. She already knew this day would be hard for her, but she hadn't even made it to the ceremony yet and she was already over it.

Could her father not see what he was doing to his own daughter? How truly fabricated it all was, the happiness, the well wishes. Every damned person in attendance knew very well what Joffrey was like, and how horrible he would be to someone like Margaery. Everyone was only acting as joyful as they were to appease Joffrey in order to keep their heads intact. It made Sansa nauseous that this was the norm.

Tyrion shifted to her right, and glancing at him she saw the same exasperated look that surely mirrored her own. At least one person here felt the same way as she did about these weddings as of late.

"A handsome goblet, my lord. Or shall I call you father?" Joffrey said smugly, and the bile burned all the way up Sansa's throat.

"I shall be honored, Your Grace." He bowed, and stepped away, the overdone grin never leaving his face. Sansa wondered if he could feel her eyes burning a hole through him.

She sighed, trying to relax herself. Whatever her opinion on Mace Tyrell and the treatment of his daughter, he was still Margaery's father and the older girl loved him as such. She tried to do what she thought Margaery would want.

Podrick, Tyrion's squire, moved forth to place a large, ancient book on the table before Joffrey. Tyrion stood and moved to the table to present his gift to the King.

Joffrey raised an eyebrow as the book was heaved onto the table with a small puff of dust, "a book?" he questioned, clearly either unimpressed with the gift, or simply unimpressed that it was Tyrion. The tension between the two of them was still palpable in the air, ever since her own wedding night.

"'The Lives Of Four Kings', Grandmaester Kaeth's history of the reigns of Daeron the Young Dragon, Baelor the Blessed, Aegon the Unworthy, and Daeron the Good. A book every King should read."

Sansa couldn't help but eye Joffrey, awaiting his reaction.

Joffrey shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable, and Sansa thought for a moment he might clap the book over Tyrion's head. Instead, he looked to his grandfather, Lord Tywin, who was seated to his right. An exchange was made between the two of their glances, and Joffrey's features softened as he turned back to Tyrion.

"Now that the war is won, we should all find time for wisdom. Thank you, uncle."

Sansa breathed a sigh of relief, along with the rest of the table.

One of Joffrey's Kingsguard approached then, his studded boots falling loudly on the cobblestone, and she saw Tywin shift to sit a little straighter. She looked over to fine him swelled with pride, as he eyed the scabbard placed on the table housing what was assumed to be a brand new blade.

"One of only two Valyrian steel swords in the Capital, Your Grace. Freshly forged in your honor," Tywin announced, beaming with satisfaction for his gift. Joffrey's eyes lit up like a child's on their nameday, and he rushed from his seat to go inspect the blade. Sansa was overcome with a feeling of unease, as she felt anytime Joffrey wielded a weapon of any kind.

He pulled it from the sheath, the fine blade hissing through the air causing gasps to ripple through the crowded gardens. Joffrey marveled it in the light, as though it were the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes one. He looked as though he loved that blade more than his own betrothed.

He began to parry with the blade, cutting rapid strokes through the air, setting Sansa's nerves further on edge. She averted her eyes, hoping it would just go away.

"Careful, Your Grace. Nothing cuts quite like Valyrian steel," Grandmaester Pycelle said from his chair down the table.

"So they say," Joffrey murmured, grinning down at the steel. Suddenly, he whirled back, bringing the blade high above his head before driving it towards the table, and Sansa flinched and closed her eyes as it cut the gifted book clean in half. The rest of the table winced, any smiles that were once worn vanished quickly, replaced with looks of bewilderment and fear as he hacked at the book over and over, until nothing but tattered pieces of leather and page lay littered on the table.

Joffrey was breathing hard, his steely glare in Tyrion's direction confirmed the reason for his outburst, and no one said a word more.

"Such a great sword should have a name! What should I call her?" Joffrey called to no one in particular, and the suggestions were quick to be given.

"Stormbringer!"

"Terminus!"

"Widow's Wail!"

"Wolfsbane!"

"Widow's Wail, I like that," Joffrey said softly in wonder, letting out a breathless chuckle, "every time I use it, it'll be like cutting off Ned Stark's head all over again."

Sansa's grip on her chair began to send tendrils of pain through her fingers as Joffrey's words pierced her heart. She bit her cheek until she could taste the coppery hint of blood, and the way the table's eyes went to her didn't help any.

Joffrey smiled at Sansa as he walked around the table, back to his seat. She didn't have to meet his gaze to know this. The table remained uncomfortably quiet, and Sansa desperately wished she was back in the time of last night, with her lover overtop her, whispering sweet encouraging words in her ear.

Somehow, Sansa had made it through the rest of the gifting without saying something that would get her killed, or damaging the inside of her mouth any further than she already had out of nervous habit. Tyrion had disappeared briefly for a awhile, before joining her in travelling to the Sept. Strangely, there was no side of her handmaiden, and Sansa had a good idea of what the two of them got up to. While she couldn't help but be a little annoyed Tyrion just left her there to go commit such acts with a woman that was not his wife, she knew she didn't have much of a right to feel that way, not when the future Queen was moaning her name just last night.

She was terribly nerve wracked at the prospect of seeing Margaery come through those doors, as this was another hurdle she would have to face today. While Margaery was no doubt going to be beautiful, to watch her walk into Joffrey's arms and receive his cloak was like a stake in her chest. She had to remind herself that Margaery was hers, that what she was about to witness wasn't real like what they shared.

The bells rang, echoing through the great hall and into Sansa's very soul, nearly making her jump as the doors to the Sept opened to blinding light.

Margaery stepped elegantly down the aisle on the arm of her father, her dress a magnificent piece of white and gold accents, and jewels shaped like leaves adorned the area around her breasts and down her short sleeves. She sparkled in the sunlight for a brief, otherworldly moment, before the doors to the Sept shut quietly.

Her hair was woven in beautiful curls high upon her head, the remainder cascading down her back and Sansa could practically imagine the floral scent she would find if she buried her face in those beautiful tresses. She looked like a Queen, and Sansa would happily bend the knee for her.

Her heart clenched as their eyes met for a moment, and Sansa could see she was there, the woman she made love to the night prior, the woman who begged in her arms and whose taste still lingered sweetly on her tongue.

Sadly, her eyes were torn away to that of her husband, and the clenching in Sansa's heart gave way to a clean break, and she swallowed the emotion that formed painfully in her throat.

Margaery took his arm, looking at him with feigned love as she was supposed to, and together they approached the awaiting Septon. Joffrey removed his cloak in one swift action, swirled it around Margaery and tucking it onto her shoulders. Sansa's jaw tightened until a dull ache grew into a wicked pain, trying to block out the images before her.

"Let it be known that Margaery, of House Tyrell, and Joffrey of the Houses Lannister and Baratheon, are one heart-"

Joffrey took her hand, and he was so unnaturally delicate in his actions, Sansa's gut twisted.

"-one flesh-"

She looked in his eyes, and he smiled back at her, as though she were his, and the knife tore deeper.

"-one soul. Cursed be he, who would seek to tear them asunder."

She had to look away now, her heart couldn't bear it.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love," he announced as he advanced on Margaery with anything but love in his eyes. His hands took her head, and Sansa knew Margaery would be thinking of how he would never measure up to her. His hands were rough and demanding, with no love given, not like Sansa's touch. Still, she couldn't watch as he hungrily took her lips, the lips that she longed to kiss right now.

Margaery looked to the applauding crowd when they broke apart, a smile gracing her features as was befitting of her new position. She found Sansa's eyes, and she found the small apology behind them, and she forced a smile back at her as she willed her arms to move in applause with everyone else.

"We have a new Queen," Sansa muttered to Tyrion, the need to express her discontent greater than it should be.

"Better her than you," he murmured in reply, and while Sansa wanted to agree with him, and once she might have, she couldn't bring herself to do so now. If she found out that Joffrey ever hurt Margaery, she isnt sure she would be able to maintain her composure as successfully as she had thus far.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

The feast was a grand affair, far more so than the tournaments or even her own wedding, which had been the runner ups for major occurrences for her. Music filled the air, along with the sound of laughter and drunken joy as fire dancers and jesters moved all around the outdoor setup, striking awe in the guests of attendance. What should be a wonderful experience could only be described as hell for Sansa, who could not find the beauty in anything around her, and seriously considered drinking herself into a stupor.

She noticed Lady Olenna approaching her table, and opted to sit a little straighter out of the depressive slump she had herself in previously.

"You look exquisite, child," she said warmly as she approached, clasping Sansa's hands in her own, "the wind has been at you though."

She sounded terribly like, well, what a loving grandmother might sound like, and her chest seized uncomfortably at the painful memories of her own mother's soothing voice.

"I haven't had the opportunity to tell you how sorry I am for how everything turned out, especially with your family," she continued, taking one of Sansa's braids in her hand, "War is war, but killing a wedding, horrid. What sort of monster would do such a thing?"

Sansa wasn't sure why she was bringing it up now, and the way she maintained her mothering tone and her comforting touches through Sansa's hair was oddly out of character for the woman, or so Sansa thought. Perhaps, she was simply being kind, noticing Sansa's pathetic aura she carried.

"My lady, my lady," Tyrion's voice came behind her, as he arrived with a drink and sat at her side.

"Lord Tyrion, you see? Not as bad as all that," she continued, "perhaps if your pauper husband were to sell his mule and his last pair of shoes, he might be able to afford to bring you to Highgarden for a visit? Now that peace has come and all is right with the world, it would do you good to see some of it."

Sansa couldn't help but beam at the woman and her offer, her first real smile of the day. She would love if she could still see Highgarden and get away from Kings Landing for awhile, somewhere that didn't remind her of the plight on her House and the bloodshed of her family.

"You must excuse me, it's time I ate some of this food I paid for," she jested, giving a final warm smile to Sansa before walking off.

Sansa watched her go, as one of the bards began a beautiful rendition of a Lannister ballad. Despite the lyrics, she couldn't deny his beautiful voice. She watched the crowd before her eyes inevitably fell back on Margaery who was down the table at her now husband's side. She tried not to look too much, as to not draw suspicions, but she found the task difficult. Margaery seemed enraptured by the music as well, while Joffrey just looked terribly bored, much to Sansa's disgust. How could he not see the beautiful woman he had on his arm? How could he not _appreciate_ what he so undeservedly had?

Joffrey stood suddenly, a scowl on his face, "very good, very good, off already!" with a crash of copper rainfall the bards ducked, the coins Joffrey so impatiently hurled in their direction glinting in the sunlight until they were gone, left for the poor men to scramble to pick up whatever they could find.

And Margaery's face flashed utter defeat for a moment, clearly saddened by the fact that she couldn't even enjoy her own wedding day without Joffrey ruining that too. Sansa couldn't help but wonder why he seemed to be in a more foul mood than usual, and was very fearful of whatever version of him Margaery would have to face that night.

Margaery regained her smile, leaning over to her ill tempered husband to whisper something in his ear. Whatever it was had Joffrey standing again, raising his glass to gain the attention of the crowd.

"Everyone!" he called, "the Queen would like to say a few words."

Margaery stood, beaming at the crowd as they roared with applause, and Sansa could tell theirs was a genuine affection for the new Queen compared to Joffrey's. Sansa would challenge anyone to not be charmed by Margaery Tyrell.

"We are so fortunate to enjoy this marvelous food and drink, not all among us are so lucky," she started, "to thank the Gods for bringing the war to a just end, King Joffrey has decreed that the leftovers of our feast be given to the poorest in his city."

There was a murmur of praise and awe through the crowd, while Joffrey sat smugly taking it all in. It was obvious that he had nothing to do with this, that it was certainly Margaery's idea, so she let her heart grow warm at the prospect of that instead.

When the applause had died down, Lady Brienne of Tarth approached the head table now, looking odd in her change of attire from her usual bulky armor. Instead, she wore a soft blue gown, only seeming to accentuate her muscles further.

She bowed deep, nodding to those respectfully, "Your Grace, my King, my Queen," her eyes settled on Margaery.

"Lady Brienne, how good of you to come."

"I'm no lady, Your Grace," she said, smiling softly.

"Did you just bow?" Cersei mocked, her expression incredulous.

"My apologies, Your Grace. I never did master the curtsey," Brienne replied evenly.

"You're the one who put a sword through Renly Baratheon," Joffrey smirked, waggling a finger at her.

"That's not true, my love, Brienne had nothing to do with it," Margaery cut in, her eyes tight.

"Shame," Joffrey drawled, "I'd Knight the man who put an end to that deviants life."

Even from where she sat, she saw Brienne swallow hard, "I just wanted to congratulate you both and wish you good fortune. The country has been at war too long. I hope your reign is long and peaceful."

"Yes, yes," Joffrey put off with an impatient wave.

"Thank you," Margaery said, "I hope we see more of you."

Brienne departed swiftly, clearly eager to remove herself, and Sansa found herself jealous of the woman for having the capability to do such a thing.

Poor Ser Dantos was before her now, and her hand went up to touch the necklace he gifted her absentmindedly. He was clearly drunk as Joffrey demanded him to be a fool, and he was currently trying and failing to juggle some apples.

Something like this was not something Margaery enjoyed, and she let it be written a little too clearly on her face, for Joffrey's brows furrowed and he shouted to the crowd, "a gold dragon to whoever knocks my fools hat off!"

The crowd immediately began to pelt Ser Dantos with whatever they could find, food, cutlery, rocks alike.

He scampered off, and Sansa glanced at Margaery who looked terribly distressed for a moment, before smiling at her husband again as though nothing were amiss.

Joffrey began to clang his knife against his goblet, aggressively calling for attention, "everyone, silence! Clear the floor!"

As was his wish, the entire garden went deathly quiet, everyone in equal agreement to not enrage the King. Margaery's eyes reflected Sansa's own bewilderment, clearly unaware of this display of his, unsure of what plan was unfurling.

"Theres been too much amusement here today," he continued, his face twisted in displeasure, and Sansa suddenly had a very bad feeling, "a royal wedding is not an amusement. A royal wedding is history. The time has come for all of us to contemplate our history. " he then nodded to some servants across the crowd, and Sansa followed his gaze to the large lion head decoration sat in the crowd. She hadn't been sure what it's purpose was other than for show, until now.

Ropes were pulled and the mouth of the lion fell open, where a dozen dwarves came tumbling out, dressed in little costumes and riding fake horses.

"I'm King Renly!" one shouted.

"I'm the King of the North!" came another.

Sansa's heart sank.

"My lords, my ladies, I give you King Joffrey! Renly! Stannis! Robb Stark! Balon Greyjoy! The War of The Five Kings!"

Joffrey's grin was bordering maniacal as the dwarves tumbled around in a mock fight, and Sansa found she couldn't watch. Even Tyrion looked sickened by the display.

She looked further and saw Cersei laughing, looking to Margaery as the dwarven "Renly" was beaten down, and Margaery looked terribly uncomfortable.

Sansa was far past uncomfortable. She was utterly seething with rage.

The fake Joffrey got ready to joust the dwarf playing the offensive image of her brother, even having the nerve to dress him up with a wolf mask on his head, a nod to the beheading of Robb Stark, and how they mounted Greywinds head upon his bloodied shoulders.

Her vision tunneled, the laughter around her growing deafening, and her hands began to tremble in a way she could not hide. She was sure the bile rising in her throat would not obey her wishes to stay put this time.

The little Joffrey cackled with laughter, as did the real one, as he picked up the wolf mask and began to thrust into it in a lewd display. Joffrey spat his drink, unable to control his amusement. Sansa wanted to die, she wanted Joffrey to die as her brother did, or worse. Sadly there was no death painful enough for Joffrey, and his crimes.

It all sounded like roaring ocean in her head, and she pulled her gaze off of the show and instead looked to Margaery. She found Margaery looking worse than she had before, her jaw tightened and it was clear by the way she didn't even pretend to be amused that she had probably reached her breaking point with Joffrey, and it only furthered Sansa's anger seeing just how much they didn't deserve this.

"Well fought, well fought!" Joffrey cheered as the dwarves took a bow finishing their show, and Joffrey hadn't looked so happy throughout his entire wedding as he did now. He held up a hefty sack in his hands, "here you are, the champions purse. Though…you're not a champion yet, are you? A true champion defeats all the challengers. Surely there are others out there who dare to challenge my reign?" he looked around expectantly, but the crowd unsurprisingly remained silent, no one daring to take the King up on his offer.

"Uncle?"

Sansa felt her stomach drop. She so wished Joffrey would just leave them alone for one day, _one day,_ so he could focus on his new wife, focus on the people who showed to witness their ceremony, to just put aside his selfish, evil tendencies for one measly day and let her have some semblance of peace. But of course, that was wishful thinking. Tyrion turned slowly to face his nephew, his hands clenching in his seat.

"What about you?" Joffrey continued, his voice patronizing, "surely they have a spare costume?"

Surprisingly, Tyrion smiled graciously, clearly intent on steering this conversation to a different direction, and not give Joffrey the reaction he was seeking, "one taste of combat was enough for me, Your Grace. I should like to keep what remains of my face," he paused to allow the crowd a chuckle before continuing, "I think you should fight him. This was but a poor imitation of your own bravery on the field of battle. I speak as a firsthand witness. Climb down from the high table with your new Valyrian sword, and show everyone how a true King wins his throne. Be careful though, for this one-" he nodded towards the dwarven Joffrey, "is clearly mad with lust."

Sansa felt her stomach sink deeper into the pit of itself upon realizing that Tyrion was not diffusing the situation at all, rather stoking Joffrey's fires, in front of everyone to see no less. She eyes Margaery, trying to shoot her a look that they had to stop this, but Margaery just looked lost. As though she too were realizing for the first time just how far Joffrey was from her control. Instead she looked like an embarrassed wife of a drunkard husband, but worse. She opted to stare straight ahead, lest she lose her mind completely.

"It would be a tragedy for the King to lose his virtue _hours_ before his wedding night." Tyrion finished, eyeing the crowd with a look of satisfaction. When the light laughter rang out, Joffrey seethed, glaring at the crowd of people who dared to find humor in Tyrion's rant. Joffrey so hated to be laughed at or humiliated, and to do so at his own wedding probably wasn't going to sit well. He reached angrily for his goblet and stood. The crowd went quiet once again as he strode over to Tyrion, and Sansa felt her heartbeat quicken and the feeling of dread increased with every step he took.

He stood behind him now, and the trickling sound was all Sansa needed to hear to know that Joffrey was currently emptying the contents of his goblet onto her husband's head.

No one was laughing anymore.

Tyrion licked his wine soaked lips, "A fine vintage. Shame that it was spilled."

Joffrey shook his head incredulously, "it did not spill-"

"My love!" Margaery called, seeming to have regained her composure and smile as she waved sickeningly at her husband, "come back to me! It's time for my father's toast!"

Sansa was thankful Margaery finally realized when a distraction was so sorely needed.

"Well how does he expect me to toast without wine?" Joffrey said, though he was smiling. "Uncle, you can be my cup bearer, seeing as you are too cowardly to fight."

Sansa swore she saw a hint of a smile cross Margaery's face, and she wondered what in Seven Hells the woman was thinking to suddenly seem so relaxed despite everything happening. Her face began to burn at the prospect that perhaps Margaery was losing herself in a certain pleasant memory that Sansa herself had difficulties staying away from.

"Your Grace does me a great honor," Tyrion replied evenly.

"Its not meant as an honor," Joffrey said in a dangerously low voice, his eyes flashing.

Tyrion's gaze darkened, and Cersei looked more entertained than she had all evening, too. Her husband looked to her, almost apologetically, before reluctantly rising from his seat and making his way to serve Joffrey.

He held his hand out to the King to take his goblet, who so unceremoniously let it clang to the ground at Tyrion's feet instead. As he bent to pick it up, the King kicked it away with his studded boot. It was far too painful to watch, and apparently everyone else felt the same as they all averted their eyes as well, even Margaery was looking slightly green again. The goblet sang as it rolled, coming to rest near Sansa's feet.

Tyrion's jaw visibly clenched, as he stared up at Joffrey, who was looking at him expectantly.

"Bring me my goblet," Joffrey ordered menacingly, his eyes darting to the cup and back to Tyrion.

Reluctantly, he turned to bend under the table to retrieve the cup. Sansa reached down to pick it up for him, unable to watch him go through his suffering alone any longer. Tyrion was good to her, respectful of her feelings. The least she could do was show him the same courtesy, that he wasn't beneath her like the rest of the court thought he was.

She handed him the goblet, his eyes expressing gratitude towards her as he took it.

He made to hand it to Joffrey, who tore his hand away disgusted, "what good is an empty cup? Fill it." He gestured to the filled decanters of wine.

He grabbed the one that had been sitting in front of Cersei, who eyes his every movement with an expression that could only be described as amusement. He filled the cup, holding out to Joffrey. Sansa prayed he would just take the cup, finally, but when he didn't she knew he wasn't finished yet.

"Kneel," he murmured, his eyes never leaving Tyrion's, "kneel before your King."

Tyrion didn't move, and Sansa watched Margaery take a deep breath, her eyes sliding shut in defeat.

"Kneel," Joffrey said a little louder, his eyes growing wide at Tyrion's defiance. He shifted on his feet, glancing around the crowd and their very uncomfortable faces, the tension in the air growing to near suffocating levels, "I said kneel!" he shouted now, his face beginning to redden.

His hand flew to the pommel of his sword, and Sansa felt her own eyes slide shut, knowing that if he killed Tyrion now that Sansa would most likely have an invitation to join Joffrey and Margaery on their wedding night, a worst nightmare come true.

"Look!" Margaery exclaimed breathlessly, effectively making her second save of the evening, "the pie!"

The crowd erupted into cheers as the large dessert was brought forth, taking multiple servants just to carry the monstrosity. Joffrey's eyes remained on Tyrion for a moment, but with everyone around them cheering and laughing once again, he had no choice but to pick his battles.

He snatched the cup from Tyrion's grip, drinking deep before passing it off to Margaery. He unsheathed his new sword and approached the pie, before heaving it above his head and crashing it to the dessert, breaking open the top to reveal a dozen white doves flying magnificently from the pastry. Sansa was surprised he hadn't lopped one of their heads off to be honest.

"Wonderful, wonderful!" Margaery exclaimed as the crowd awed at the exciting display, "my hero," she cooed as he took her possessively in his arms, pressing a kiss to her full lips, and the jealousy that knotted in Sansa's stomach was almost enough to take her breath away.

Servants began to serve the pie, though Sansa's already non existent appetite only grew stronger after e everything she witnessed thus far.

"Can we go now?" she whispered to Tyrion, who surely wanted to leave as badly as she did. She felt a pang of guilt toward leaving Margaery, but she figured the older girl must understand. Joffrey was becoming increasingly hostile towards Tyrion, which could only mean bad news for Sansa as well.

"Let's find out," he murmured back. She flirted her gaze to Margaery, who was feeding Joffrey cake on a gilded fork, and the knot tightened and she felt her eyes narrow. She tried to hold up another piece, but Joffrey was distracted, and Sansa already knew what by.

"Uncle!" Joffrey exclaimed suddenly, as though he had heard of their departure already, "where are you going? You're my cup bearer, remember?"

Gods, did he ever tire of tormenting those around him? His own family, no less?

"I thought I might change out of these wet clothes, Your Grace," Tyrion replied politely, making to stand up.

"No, no, no, you're perfect the way you are! Serve me my wine," he ordered, intent on repeating the previous awkward encounter. Sansa never wanted the floor to swallow her so badly, save for the night Joffrey nearly had his way with her.

Tyrion glanced at Sansa again, who had a terribly feeling of déjà vu as he approached where Joffrey's goblet sat.

"Hurry now, this pie is dry!" he barked, his mouth full of the pastry and spraying food forth like a boor. Tyrion grabbed the goblet, all eyes on him including Margaery's, intently watching to see what horrid thing Joffrey would do next.

He handed him the goblet quickly, and Joffrey passed of his plate of unfinished dessert to his wife. He drank greedily from the goblet, the wine dribbling down his chin as he sucked the red liquid down his gullet. Sansa was desperate to get out of there, for the drink would surely only fuel his temper more.

Tyrion turned to him as he left, "if it pleases you, Your Grace, Lady Sansa is very tired-"

"No," Joffrey sputtered as he swallowed the rest of the drink. He coughed, as though it had went down the wrong pipe, "you'll wait here-" he coughed again, his hand coming to clasp his throat as he desperately tried to clear the obstruction. The attendees at the table began to exchange confused looks, before looking back to the King who only seemed to be increasing in his distress.

"Uhm-" he managed, before the fit of coughs grew worse, and silverware began to clatter along the table as guests began to stand, their confusion quickly growing to concern.

"Your Grace?" Tyrion questioned, taking a step toward him. Joffrey shook his head and held out a hand to stop him, downing more of the wine in an attempt to soothe his burning throat.

"It's nothing!" Joffrey choked out, but it was apparent that it was _something_ , for he began to gasp violently as he tried to steady himself on the table. He tried and failed to breathe deep as his hands began to tremble, his once aloof demeanor quickly descending into real fear, and he turned to Margaery whose fear seemed to match his own.

"He's choking!" she cried, her expression turning panicked.

"Someone help the poor boy!" Olenna called as she stood from her seat.

Joffrey spun from Margaery, his eyes looking around wildly at the crowd as though he would be able to find any sort of help there, the fear growing to panic, the panic into desperation.

Sansa couldn't look away, now.

"Idiots, help your King!" Olenna cried again, as members of the Kingsguard rushed forth.

Joffrey collapsed as he gagged violently, spittle flying from his mouth onto the pavement below. Cersei began to scream, and chaos broke out all around them.

Members of the table leapt from their seats, Cersei the fastest of them all while she shoved Margaery aside to get to her boy who now writhed on the ground in a puddle of his own bloodied mucus, and a cold feeling of dread washed over Sansa upon the realization that this was no accident.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed her shoulder, nearly scaring her out of her own skin. She whirled around wildly to see who the hand belonged to, and was surprised to see Ser Dantos looking very much more sober than he had before.

"Come with me now," he said in a rush.

Sansa couldn't believe her ears, and it must have shown on her face for he gave her a very exasperated expression.

"if you want to live, we have to leave," he pleaded, his eyes darting between herself and the gurgling King on the ground.

It hit her that Ser Dantos was offering to take her away from Kings Landing. She didn't know how, or why, or what plan he had laid in place, but it was the opportunity she had been waiting for that had fallen directly in her lap.

So why was she hesitating?

She had a few very quick, very muddled trains of thought regarding the current situation unfurling before her. First, was the question if Margaery had any knowledge that this was going to happen. Was it possible that this was even _her_ plan? Or perhaps Olenna's, with or without Margaery's knowledge? She felt like this would be something Margaery would confide in her had she known, but there was no way for Sansa to know for sure without asking her.

Secondly, there was the possibility that even now, Ser Dantos was in on this plan, whoever's plan it was, and Sansa's escape might be part of it. That thought both saddened her and filled her with adoration for the older girl, if it was her doing, thinking back to when Margaery said she would want this for Sansa, should the opportunity ever arise. The more she thought about it, the more plausible it sounded.

And finally, the entire thing was tearing Sansa in half by the decision to either stay and face the aftermath at Margaery's side, or to flee Kings Landing as she had been dreaming of, and leave the woman and everything they shared together behind. It should be an easy choice, obviously fleeing the Capital would cement her safety more than if she stayed, for now the thought was crossing her mind that if Margaery wasn't a suspect, which she most likely wouldn't be if she had bothered to do this at all, meant that Sansa and Tyrion certainly would be.

Could Margaery protect her from Cersei's wrath? She didn't know.

But the choice was not easy, not after everything they had been through, especially not after her revelation last night. She knew that what she felt for Margaery went beyond a simple interest or infatuation, that it had already crossed that threshold into the feelings she had only previously heard of in stories, or witnessed in her own parents. She was in love with the woman, madly and completely, even if she was no expert on the matter she just _knew_ , and it was frightening and wonderful all at the same time.

Now, it was just heartbreaking.

She desperately tried to seek Margaery's attention, but she was too occupied playing the part of the shocked, grieving widow, and Sansa had to admit her tears appeared almost too real as she wailed on her knees behind Cersei, as a wife lost in heartbreak and despair.

But she needed Margaery to see, to witness her departure so Sansa could convey the apology, so she could hopefully see Margaery's look of understanding in kind. She couldn't just leave without a final _something_ , anything to tell her how much she means to her, how sorry she is, even with just a look.

But Margaery wasn't looking, and Sansa was running out of time.

She felt another hard tug on her sleeve, and her gaze shifted back to Ser Dantos, whose expression was growing in urgency by the second. Sansa knew she should be acting, but damnit she just wanted to think for a moment, but the chaos around her as patrons screamed in shock and Cersei's wails persisted.

She looked back to where Joffrey lay now motionless in his weeping mother's arms, and she could see a flash of his purpled face when one of the guards shifted. He was most certainly dead. Suddenly, Cersei's head snapped to her right, where Tyrion stood eyeing Joffrey's goblet as though looking for clues.

"Take him!" she screamed, pointing a trembling finger at the little man, whose face had quickly turned to panic, "take him! _Take him!"_ her voice was piercing with rage, and Sansa's stomach dropped.

Members of the Kingsguard rushed forth, seizing Tyrion roughly by the arms to haul him away, and no one, not even his father protested. Everyone seemed satisfied with what was transpiring.

Sansa couldn't be sure if it was Tyrion, and while all signs would point to him after every tense confrontation he and Joffrey had as of late, Tyrion also seemed far too intelligent to try and pull off something like this. Surely, he must have known he would be a suspect immediately, so how could it possibly make any sense?

Either way, with Tyrion's arrest she was hit with the realization that she would quickly be the next in line for suspicion. There was the very real possibility that one could easily say she was in on this plan, why wouldn't she be? Perhaps they might even consider her to be the very orchestrator. While many in Kings Landing have a variety of reason's to hate the King, none had as good a reason as Sansa Stark. After all, he ordered the beheading of her father, humiliated her to no end, beat her senselessly, and his family was responsible for her current situation.

Even if she somehow, miraculously, was not considered a suspect, Joffrey may be dead but Lord Tywin certainly wasn't. Even if she kept her life, it would immediately be passed over into another marriage she did not want, to another Lannister she did not love, and she nearly gagged when she thought that Lord Tywin might even do the deed himself.

She would never go home, not unless she left now.

"My lady, _please_!" Ser Dantos' voice raised now, jerking her from her thoughts.

She glanced to Margaery one last time, trying to soak in how beautiful she looked, even in her false tears and agony. She wished she would meet her eyes, but there wasn't enough time. The sob rose quickly, tearing from her throat just as she tore her eyes away from the only love she had ever known, and ran.

There wasn't anything like love; it was as though Sansa lived a hundred lives in a few short weeks, her emotions ranging from crushing fear, to utter bliss, and everything in between. But it was the most wonderful time of her life, the only silver lining she ever found since coming to this place and it happened accidentally.

She didn't want to think of how different things might be if Margaery had never kissed her that day. She wanted to cherish these memories, for she knew she would hold them until her dying day, and she was alright with that. Maybe this won't even be the last time, it was a glimmer of hope that Sansa desperately needed to keep her weighted feet moving forward.

Margaery, with her chestnut hair that shone in the sun when she moved through the gardens, that tickled her face when she pressed her lips to her neck. Her soothing words, all of them she ever spoke, like whispers of something lasting and forever. Her touch that turned her blood to wildfire, the kind of touch that men went to war for, that cities burned for.

She hoped Margaery would never forget, as Sansa knew she wouldn't. She couldn't help but glance back one last time, even though Margaery was long out of view, she still felt that pull. She tried to tell herself Margaery would do well here now that Joffrey was gone, that she would survive this place, and live a long and fulfilled life as a devoted and beloved Queen by all those around her, as did she deserve. She only hoped that Margaery would forgive her for this, that she would understand.

With a final goodbye playing on the lips of her mind, she said a prayer for the Good Queen Margaery of House Tyrell, the Rose of Highgarden, the love of Sansa's life, the only one she will ever know.

_Long may she reign._


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As discussed, our first time skip! And I'm updating a day early, as I'll be out of town this weekend. Enjoy!

**Sept of Baelor, Kings Landing, 303 AC**

**_Margaery_ **

The book she cradled in her hands was old and decrepit, she was sure one wrong turn of the page would have it falling into tattered bits, but in truth she didn't care. In fact, the book held no true interest to her, it was simply part of her ruse. If the High Sparrow were to believe her atonement she had better play the part.

She breathed deep, the musty smell of old leather pleasant on her nose, a welcome and drastic change from her weeks spent underground in the dungeons of the Sept, imprisoned like a dog along with her dear brother.

She had too much time to think here, and it was remarkable that she hadn't lost it as her brother did. She thought of poor Loras, trapped in a cell similar to hers, broken and unable to care anymore, instead just a mere shell of a man.

At least Cersei's fate hadn't been much more pleasant than theirs had been; she had to admit, it was satisfying to see the woman with her short, choppy hairstyle after being subjected to her walk of atonement.

It had been a long fall, since becoming Queen over two years ago. Her marriage to Tommen, while still brief and young, was actually quite pleasant. He was a very kind young man, and he would make a fine King if his mother would stop trying to corrupt him so. Hopefully soon, Margaery will be out if here and be at his side to join him in rule, but she was going to have to play a good actress first if she ever hoped for such a thing to be possible. Being held captive by the most powerful religious cult there was, thanks to Cersei, was not as easy to escape as she had originally thought. They had grown more powerful than one could have ever thought possible.

It was hard to believe how she landed here in the first place, locked in the dungeons below the Sept with not a sheet to sleep on. To think, had they only not found that stupid boy Olyvar, none of them would be here. She should have given in to the urge to strangle him when she had the chance.

He told that manic High Sparrow everything; when he first became her brothers squire, how Margaery had even walked in on them once, the day she was angered over his mistreatment of Sansa. This effectively killed her credibility when it came to her testimony of her brothers innocence, that he did not engage in the acts he did with another man.

Cersei, the conniving snake she was, tried to accuse Olyvar of being a liar to save face, but she knew that the boy had proof in the shape of a wine colored birthmark too high on Loras' thigh. That was what sealed their fate.

It has been the first time she witnessed real fear in her grandmother's eyes, and it shook her.

She tried yelling for Tommen, for him to do _something_ , but one look from Cersei effectively silenced him.

If they only knew of her own actions against the faith, committed so long ago with a girl she didn't know anymore.

Her heart clenched painfully.

As much as she tried to forget, to throw herself into her Queenly duties and erase the past as though it never happened, Sansa still crossed her mind more often than she would have liked. She can still feel the pain of that day, when it was announced that Sansa Stark was missing, and had fled Kings Landing.

It was like the crudest knife in her chest, twisting violently as she breathed.

She hadn't been able to stop the tears that night over the loss of her dear wolf, thankfully it was easily chalked up to her grieving over Joffrey's death. She understood why Sansa fled, especially with Tyrion arrested. In fact, if she hadn't fled, Margaery would've tried to find a way for her to do so. There was no way she could have protected Sansa from the Lannisters when she couldn't even protect herself from their wrath, and she was foolish to ever promise to do so.

When her grandmother explained to her what happened, that it had actually been hers and Lord Baelish plan to murder the King, Margaery was furious. She was furious about Sansa's involvement and that bloody necklace, and that she was foolish enough to strike a deal with Littlefinger. While it worked out for them at the time, in the end they were screwed over by the man once again. And possibly, Sansa's life as well.

The deal was that Sansa would be smuggled from Kings Landing into Littlefinger's possession on his boat. From there she was to be taken to Highgarden, where she would carry out her marriage to Loras, in turn setting everything right again.

But Baelish failed to ever deliver Sansa to Highgarden, and they lost contact with the both of them.

While her grandmother's intentions were good, in Margaery's opinion this was not her best judgement. Perhaps Olenna was unaware of Baelish's infatuation with Sansa, but Margaery was not. Had her grandmother just included her in the goings on of this plan, perhaps this could have been prevented.

She just prayed she was safe, that she had found some semblance of comfort and prosperity in her downtrodden life. That her grandmother's plan hadn't made things worse for her. Then again, it's not like there was ever much of a choice, it probably would have been her death had she remained.

She pushed the agonizing memories of Sansa to the recess of her mind when she heard the footsteps approaching. She learned long by now how hard it was to convince the High Sparrow of anything, how it was near impossible to lie to the man, he saw through everything as though it were made of glass. If he hadn't went the religious route, he would have made a fine player of the game.

The door opened but she didn't turn, instead she pretended as though she were thoroughly immersed in the tome, as though his presence didn't have her on edge.

"Your Grace," The High Sparrow greeted softly, shutting the door behind him. "What are we reading today?"

She straightened where she sat, "the book of The Mother, Your Holiness. Chapter three verse twelve."

"Ahh," he shuffled towards her, "As water rounds the stones-"

"Smoothing what was jagged, so does a woman's love, calm a man's brute nature. A wife salves her husband's wounds, a mother sings her son to sleep." she finished for him, she knew the verse by memory. She knew many of them. She had studied the faith of the Seven inside and out, scouring every bit of knowledge that she could fit into her brain in such a short amount of time. She almost, truly, became someone else, as she played the part so well. Even Cersei couldn't do what she was managing now, escaping her walk of atonement, escaping the dungeons. She had everyone thoroughly fooled that she was now a believer.

"You learn quickly," he said, "There are some who know every verse of the sacred text, but don't have a drop of the Mother's mercy in their blood, and savages, who can't read at all, who understand the Fathers wisdom."

Margaery had him, already prepared with an easy lie on her lips, "for years I pretended to love the poor, the afflicted. I had pity for them, but I never loved them. They disgusted me." She finished softly.

"They are hard to love," The High Sparrow said with a smile on his lips as he moved to sit on the stone bench, "they disgust us because they are us, shorn of our illusions. They show us what we'd look like without our fine clothes. How we'd smell without perfume." He sighed deeply, looking to the floor for a moment, "Can I ask you a personal question?"

Margaery gave him a warm smile as she sat down next to him, as though she were happy to do so, "of course."

"The King mentioned since your reunion you haven't joined him in your marriage bed."

She hadn't been expecting the question, but she hadn't a problem answering it regardless, "no…"

"You have a duty, Your Grace," he responded in a low voice, "to your husband, your King, and your country. To the Gods themselves."

She bit her lip, "it's just…the desires, that once drove me no longer do." That wasn't exactly a lie. The desires had never been there for Tommen anyway, they never would be, not after-

She stopped that thought from going any further.

"Congress does not require desire on the woman's part, only patience," he said knowingly, "the King must have an heir if we are to continue our good work."

She did her best to look ashamed, "forgive me, sometimes the true path is hard to find."

"Hard to find, and harder still to walk upon." He gripped her hand then with his own, and it took a great deal of will power not to pull away disgusted, "but you've made great progress. I only pray your grandmother follows your lead."

It hit her like a war hammer when his words sunk in, and she scolded herself for not seeing this sooner. He had already brainwashed her brother, and forced her hand in Tommen's allegiance to the faith as well. And her father, he had no choice but to stand by as part of the King's council. There was only one person left that they truly needed to convert to their faith, Olenna.

She had to warn her.

"My grandmother?" she asked, pretending to be confused.

He stood now, "yes, the Queen of Thorns is a remarkable woman, a strong woman, and an unrepentant sinner. You must teach her the new way, as she taught you the old. Or I fear for her safety, body and soul."

His smile was anything but kind, and the poorly veiled threat was one Margaery knew would be acted upon. She had to make sure her grandmother wasn't around when they came for her.

Later that day, the High Sparrow allowed her lunch with her grandmother, under the condition that Septa Unella would be present in attendance. Margaery wracked her brain as to how she could possibly convince her grandmother to return to Highgarden with that wretched women watching them.

Her eyes widened to the parchment on her desk, and she quickly grabbed a quill and sat down, wracking her brain with something, anything that would be inconspicuous enough to be seen as innocent. Her grandmother understood her perhaps better than anyone, and she would have to understand this when she told her.

She drew a simple flower, the Sigil of House Tyrell.

* * *

"Does it move, or talk?" her grandmother said harshly of the Septa who stood behind them like a gargoyle. Margaery would have laughed had they been there under different circumstances, "I want to speak with you alone."

"Septa Unella has been my true friend and counselor-"

" _Argh_ , this is madness!" Olenna said angrily as she slammed her hands on the table, standing up with a swiftness Margaery had not seen in quite some time. She walked briskly into the adjoining room where Margaery followed, and unfortunately, as did Septa Unella.

Her grandmother turned around, glaring at the woman, "you're not in your Sanctuary now my dear, all I have to do is whistle and my men will stroll in here and bash you about until I tell them to stop, if I tell them to stop."

"Grandmother!" Margaery admonished.

"You could use a good bashing-"

"Grandmother, please," Margaery said again as they sat at the table together.

"What have they done to you?" her grandmother hissed, her temper flaring.

It pained Margaery to do this, but she hoped her grandmother was smart enough to know it was an act, "you marched against the High Sparrow, against the faith-"

"We marched for you!" Olenna cut in, leaning forward in her chair.

"the Gods could have punished you and father but they didn't, they showed mercy-"

"What about your brother?" the old woman spat, "what mercy did they show him?"

Margaery took a deep breath, "Loras' only hope is to confess his crimes and repent. If he does, the faith will allow him to return to Highgarden. He'll have to renounce his name and title…"

Her grandmother looked as though she had heard enough. Margaery felt a twist in her stomach at saying this words, but with Septa Unella present she wasn't left with much of a choice. She couldn't save Loras, or Sansa, or even herself, but she could save her grandmother.

"Have you lost your mind!?"

"…and live his life as a penitent."

"He is the heir to Highgarden! The future of House Tyrell!"

"He can begin again," Margaery suggested.

"As a mindless fanatic," Olenna harrumphed.

"As a free man. " Margaery needed Loras to confess, as she has done, as it was the only way for them to truly ensure their safety.

Olenna straightened, her eyes boring into Margaery's with contempt and finality, "you will leave for Highgarden today. There is no law that says you must stay here."

Margaery's eyes slid closed, as much as she would love to return to Highgarden and forget all of this, she could not, "I am the Queen. It is my duty to serve my husband the king."

Margaery stood from her seat, swiftly walking to her grandmother and crouching to a knee to take her hand into her own, "but you should leave, your place is at home."

Her grandmother suddenly looked very taken back, almost horrified that Margaery would even suggest such a thing, and as much as It pained her to lose her only ally she knew it was what needed to be done to keep her grandmother alive.

"I will never leave you, never," her grandmother said determinedly, though her voice wavered with emotion, and it was hard for Margaery not to let her own emotion show as well.

"You must," she said with matched determination as she thrust the crumpled parchment into her hand. Her grandmother glanced to their joined hands briefly, before looking back to Margaery, her eyes now shining with understanding.

"Go home," Margaery stressed, a little too harsh, before remembering Septa Unella, "find comfort in prayer or whatever works. The Mother watches over us all."

She stood, wanting her grandmother to be gone swiftly, the sooner the better. She would not rest until she knew Olenna was safely back in Highgarden. The older woman rose as well, coming to stand in front of Margaery with tears in her crinkled eyes. She was proud of Margaery, this she could tell, for she even had her fooled into thinking she was a believer for a moment. All her life, she learned to adapt and become someone else to suit her House's needs, and now she was demonstrating that knowledge.

"I'll see you soon, my dear," she said with open arms. Margaery did not trust herself to speak, instead moved into her grandmother's embrace. The lump in her throat burst momentarily, and her eyes slipped closed before the tears could come, allowing her lip to but tremble slightly, before composing herself once more and reluctantly stepping away from the woman.

"Seven blessings to you grandmother."

* * *

With her grandmother safely on voyage back to Highgarden, Margaery could put all of her focus on saving herself and her dear brother, whose trial, along with Cersei Lannister, would be held today in the Sept of Baelor. She knew not what she could do for poor Loras now, but she would be there regardless, and she told herself she would not let harm come to him.

Even if it killed her.

The Sept was flooded with people, commoners and nobles alike, all here to watch the infamous trial that would decide the fate of the Queen Mother. For that was the real star of the show, not her dear brother. If anything, Cersei has consistently insulted the Faith, and by comparison it made her brother look like that of an angel. She could only hope they would grant him the mercy that they withhold from that woman.

She went to stand next to her father, and tried to ignore the feelings of worry welling up inside her. Glancing around, everything looked as it should be, and she eyed the High Sparrow as he stepped down the stairs wearing his tattered long robes that hung off him like a filthy sack. His white hair wild on his balding head, which would have shone in the light had it not been so dirty. She chewed the inside of her lip at the sight of the man, who had stopped and gave her a small smile as he passed, and she did her best to nod back.

The murmurings within the Sept went silent as her brother was escorted down the same steps, his face dirtied and gaunt, looking very much like a ghost come to haunt the place. Her heart seized at the sight of him, pity filling her soul. He was led by the guards to stand in the center of the room, before the now seated High Sparrow.

The old man stood from his seat, the old chair groaning under his weight, "Ser Loras Tyrell," he started, his normally soft voice now seemed booming as it echoed through the walls of the Sept, "are you prepared to stand trial, and profess your guilt or innocence before the Seven?"

Loras refused to meet his eyes, the once confident young man reduced to a fearful boy, wary of even his own shadow. He cleared his throat, "there will be no need for a trial."

Gasps and murmurs began to flow through the crowd like a wave, and Margaery looked to her father with confusion, though he did not meet her eyes, as he was too involved with what was about to happen next.

"I confess before the Seven, and freely admit to my crimes."

The murmuring grew louder, and Margaery couldn't help but feel a swell of pride for her brother, despite his appearance. Hopefully, the High Sparrow would grant him mercy should he confess to his crimes, rather than being judged in a trial. He too, should be released as she was, if he continues to cooperate with the fanatics.

The High Sparrow certainly seemed please, much to Margaery's annoyance. She long suspected that the man got some sort of sick thrill in hearing the wrong doings of nobles, bathing himself in their confessions in order to make himself feel more of a man. If only he knew her true crimes in the eyes of the Seven, her true regrets, for there was only one that kept her up at night, when all else was resting in the quiet of the darkness. No, not Margaery, for she was plagued by a much different form of regret than that she had confided in the High Sparrow.

She regrets never telling her wolf that she loved her, with every fiber of her being.

"To which crimes will you be confessing?" The old man inquired as he bore his gaze into Loras.

"All of them," Loras replied, his eyes never straying from the stone floor. Margaery felt terribly sorry for her brother, putting up his entire personal life for all to see and judge. Margaery was at least granted that stroke of luck, that she would never have to stand before a crowd listing the beautiful acts she and Sansa had shared together.

"I lay with other men, including the traitor, Renly Baratheon." Whispers of shock and disgust rose up in the crowd, and Margaery had to suppress the urge to shoot them all ghastly looks. She knew how hard this must be for her brother, he loved Renly like no other.

"I perjured myself before the Gods. I am guilty of depravity, dishonesty, profligacy, and arrogance," he continued, "I see that now. I humble myself before the Seven, and accept whatever punishment the Gods deem just."

The room was terribly quiet now, as no one wanted to miss a word of what such a degenerate's punishment might be. The thought of the crowd celebrating in what could be the death or pain of her dear brother made Margaery feel ill.

The High Sparrow remained still a moment as he took in Loras' words, before turning to address the crowd, "the God's judgement is fierce, but also fair. The Warrior punishes those who believe themselves beyond the reach of justice. But the Mother shows her mercy to those who kneel before her." Loras heard his words, and in taking them to heart he began to lower to his knees, slowly.

"I take full responsibility for my many sins, and unburden myself of my desires. My only remaining wish, is to devote my life to the Seven. May I be a living example of their grace, for others to witness." Loras said with quite determination, as he looked up to the High Sparrow from his place on the floor.

"You understand fully what this means?" the High Sparrow asked, as he stepped closer to Loras.

"I do. I will abandon the Tyrell name, and all that goes with it. I will renounce my Lordship, and my claims on Highgarden."

Margaery saw her father's hand fly to his mouth, and she felt her own stomach turn at his words. While she knew that this was what they needed to do to ensure her brother's safe release, it didn't make it any easier to see him so beaten down, enough to be forced to leave his titles and his home behind. She, at least, still had those things as Queen.

"I will never marry, and I will never father children," he finished, his lip now trembling with the levity of what he had just done, and he refused to meet Margaery's eyes. Her heart broke at the sight.

"Brother Loras," the High Sparrow addressed, ignoring her brothers tears, "I ask you to devote your life to the Seven Gods," he reached for Loras then, cupping under his chin to drag his gaze upwards, "will you fight to defend your faith against heretics and apostates?"

"I will," Loras assured, and the High Sparrow ran his fingers through his shortened chestnut hair, almost affectionately. He then straightened and nodded to the escorts who then promptly stepped forth, two on each side seizing her brother by the arms while one stood behind, holding his head in place.

She closed her eyes as the knife was brought out, the tip resting on Loras' forehead. The blade was brought down, beginning to carve away at the flesh that stood in it's path. Loras let out a grunt of pain and her father suddenly surged forth, "No, I can't let them-!"

Margaery's hands flew to steady her father next to her, "faith is the way, father," though she said it more menacingly than she ought to, as the display nearly had her in hysterics as well, forced to watch as they butcher her dear brothers face.

When the deed was done, Loras was taken aside to stand with the other members of the Faith, the soft drips of his blood falling to the floor seemed deafening in the Great Sept. The ugly symbol of the faith was visible even from here, even when obstructed by the blood smeared on his face. The High Sparrow approached her, and she felt her rage begin to intensify.

"You _mutilated_ him," she said in a hush, glancing around to see who might be listening, "you gave me your word!"

"And I kept my word," he regarded her, "once the Queen Mother's trial has concluded, Brother Loras is free to leave."

"And where is the Queen Mother?" She demanded, as though just realizing Cersei wasn't there. But she had noticed, she had been watching for the woman ever since she arrived, she merely thought that Cersei wouldn't be brought forth until her own brother was finished. Now, she was not so sure, and that gave way to make room for the panic to begin to set deep within her bones, weighing her down like stone.

"Her litter never left the keep," one of the guards said in a low voice, and the fear magnified within her. If Cersei was not here, that meant she had no intentions of ever standing trial, and knowing Cersei, she didn't plan on answering to the High Sparrow regarding her absence.

"It appears the Queen Mother does not wish to attend her own trial," he said almost with a hint of amusement, and Margaery never wanted to smack the smirk off someone quite so much as she did now. It bewildered her, how calm the man remained throughout this new revelation. Did he not know Cersei Lannister?

"Go to the Red Keep and show her the way," he said softly to the guard, who then bowed his head and made haste. The High Sparrow smirked at Margaery again, but she couldn't bring herself to share the same enthusiasm. Something was terribly wrong, she could feel it in the cold dread that ran through her veins.

She turned slowly, helplessly, to peer into the eyes of the lord's and ladies standing above her, As they exchanged glances of confusion, which turned very quickly into worry. Even her father began to look very apprehensive, and the murmurings within the Sept grew louder. Her heart began to hammer in her chest, she tried to take a deep breath to steady her nerves but found it difficult to move past the anxious lump formed within her throat.

The only one who didn't seem concerned was her brother, who was now too far gone to care in the slightest, he opted instead to remain his gaze on the floor still, as though the unsettled murmurs around him weren't being spoken at all.

Maintaining as much composure as she could muster given the present circumstances, she marched forth to where the High Sparrow was now standing. She glanced around making sure none were listening, as to avoid a further panic within the already distressed crowd.

"Something's wrong," she said hurriedly, trying to give him a calm smile which came out more like a twisted grimace. Her palms began to sweat, and she was suddenly overcome with the urge to scream at the man to listen to her, especially when he still seemed so calm.

He scoffed at her, only fueling her suspicions that the man was completely incompetent , "nothing to fear, Your Grace. The trial will begin shortly."

"Cersei is not here. Tommen is not here," she persisted, her heart racing beyond her own control now. She looked over her shoulder as though she were expecting an axe to be swung at her head, the feeling of disaster looming over her making her blood run colder than before, "why do you think their not here?"

She needed him to understand. He was severely and dangerously underestimating the most calculating and stubborn woman to ever have been born to this generation, something he may do, but she certainly would not. She almost wanted to cry like a child, and beg the man to heed her words, though in doing so she doubted she would get very far. If he would not hear her, she could not rely on him to act.

"If the accused is not here, she will be tried regardless. We cannot escape the justice of the Gods-"

Margaery had heard enough. This foolish man had already put her family through a hell like no other, she would be damned if he cost them their lives as well. Something within her snapped, and she threw out all thought of maintaining peace and tranquility within the Sept at this point. Perhaps a panic was what was needed to get everyone out of here, to make them see as she did.

" _Forget about the bloody Gods and listen to what I am telling you!"_

He looked at her as though seeing her for the first time, which she took as a good sign, for it meant he was listening, along with every other man, woman, and child within the Sept that had ceased their gossiping and turned to hear the Queen's words.

"Cersei understands the consequences of her absence," she started, speaking quickly before he changed his mind, though she was unable to keep the tremble from her voice, whether it was out of rage or desperation, she didn't know, "and she is absent anyway. Which means she does _not_ intend to suffer those consequences."

She let her words take effect, glancing around the Sept as she saw heads nodding with agreement to her, "the trial can wait. We all need to _leave_."

She insufferable man scoffed again, disbelieving her words, and that was fine. If that fanatic wanted to stay here and die with the rest of them, it was his right to do so, but she would not be following him into that afterlife. At least he will be reunited with his blessed Mother.

"We all need to leave _now_!" she shouted, and chaos ensued.

Everyone began to scramble from where they stood, shouting for their loved ones to follow and desperately tried to make way to the exit. She ran to Loras, cupping his chin though he would not look at her.

"Loras," she breathed, desperately searching his eyes as people ran around them, "stay with me." He did not meet her eyes, but he allowed her to guide him, and she took him by the arm and pulled him to the nearest door.

Guards of the Faith began to circle around the room, unwilling to let anyone pass. She still had Loras' arm.

"Let me through. _Let me through!"_ she screamed, pulling desperately on the arms of the guards. People were trying to force their way past, but the guards remained steadfast in blocking the exits. She felt a great push from behind her, and her brothers arm slipped from her grasp in an instant.

" _Loras_!" she screamed, but he was already getting lost in the gaggle of panicking citizens, she faintly saw his blood spattered forehead in a sea of frightened faces before it disappeared completely.

Something came over her then. While she would never abandon her family, she didn't think she would anyway, the sheer animalistic instincts of survival took over, and her body was no longer her own. With a desperate cry tearing from her throat, she grabbed a fistful of the chains slung around the fanatics neck, pulling them toward her with all of her might.

As she expected, the man lost his balance, too prepared to be pushed back rather than pulled forward. When he stumbled to his knee Margaery used him as leverage, pushing herself off his back and over him entirely, and she continued to claw her way to the door.

"Let me _through_!" she cried again, to no one in particular. To her left she saw her father, held in place by the fanatics.

She could not help him now.

She could not help her brother.

Her only chance of survival were to seize that door in front of her.

She prayed for the Gods forgiveness as she wrenched the door open, clawing a guard in the face to get her way. The sunlight poured into her face and she ran to it like a holy light, ran as fast as she could without stopping.

She flew down the steps; it was suddenly eerie, being outside in the bright light like this, when only moments ago she wasn't sure if she could even make it past the guards. It was almost surreal, the quiet of the air around her after being in the echoing hall of the Sept, yet here she was, she got out, but something within her wouldn't allow her to slow pace, something within her told her to push forward.

Her feet pounded on the pavement, her footwear long gone but she hadn't even noticed. Passersby gave her strange, questioning looks, some even may have shouted something to her, but she didn't hear. She kept moving straight, taking any road that would put more distance between herself and the Sept.

The pavement began to grow hot on her feet, suddenly and painfully aware of her lacking shoes, almost _too_ painfully. As though it were burning the skin right off.

But it didn't end with her feet.

She felt the fire before she ever heard the explosion.

Licking it's way up her calves and backside, it felt as though the sun itself were on her heels, and she was sure her skin was trailing on the pavement but she kept running, somehow, regardless.

Kept running, until she was thrown from her feet entirely, not into the flames as she expected but into blackness, thick as night.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, just wanted to let you guys know that there will be brief mentions of Sansa's abuse in this chapter, as well as some of the following chapters. But I will give warnings if it gets descriptive. Oh, and this ones gonna hurt. Sorry in advance 😬

**Winterfell, 303 AC**

_**Sansa** _

She shrugged the furs draped around her shoulders closer to her, before yanking on the leather black gloves that covered her hands further down, snuggly. It was cold down in the kennels, and she wanted to live in this moment for as long as she could, tasting it was sweet as summer wine, though she wasn't sure how sweet it actually would be. The damage was already long done, and she doubted she would get any reprieve from what she was about to do.

She watched the bloodied man strapped to the chair, and she hated how she feared him even now. Even with a cage between them. Even when he was tied down.

The truth was, he had more effect on Sansa then he could have possibly imagined. She was a woman changed, and while everything she had been through made her stronger than she ever had been before, even in front of him she was reduced to that fearful child she had been years ago.

Perhaps, she never truly left.

And she hated him for that.

She would not let him see her fear this time, she told herself. For the first time in her life, she was in control. She had literally taken her life back, her _home_ back, and she wouldn't squander her second chance. Or was it the third, after leaving Kings Landing?

She had been Sansa Lannister, and Sansa Bolton. Now, she would be Sansa Stark.

The man gurgled where he sat, the sound drawing out between his swollen lips after her brother Jon had a turn bashing him around some, for the horrors he put Sansa through.

The scars on her back burned.

But Jon knew better than to kill him, knew better than to deny Sansa her revenge when it was there just in front of her.

He groaned, his blackened hands flexing on the chair they had sat him in, writhing against the restraints. Sansa swallowed and braced herself, as he raised his bloodied face to glare at her, his eyes stark white against the red contrast. She felt her stomach twist, though she knew her face remained impassive. Whether he saw through her or not didn't matter here, not anymore.

"Ah," Ramsay Bolton croaked, his lips curling into a deviant smile, "Sansa. Hello Sansa." He regarded his surroundings as much as his head would allow, but he merely lolled his eyes about the room, "is this where I'll be staying now?"

She fixed him with a cold stare, her eyes saying enough.

He chuckled, "No…our time together is about to come to an end. That's alright. You can't kill me, I'm part of you now."

His voice was a whisper from death itself, and for a brief moment her heart leapt out of her chest as her suspicions were confirmed. He was right. Sansa tried to remember a time when the world did not feel so bleak, where her being didn't feel so broken as it was. She thought herself a damaged woman once, before she could barely call herself one.

She didn't know the meaning of the word.

She had forgotten what it felt like, to be loved. To be waited upon, to be needed, _desired_. In the way every girl wants it to be, in the very same way that she had only felt once before. And it killed her, the fact that she had forgotten how it made her feel.

 _No_ , she told herself. _Ramsay stole it from me._

There was no room for sunshine and blazing roses in Sansa's mind anymore.

Only the faint knowledge of knowing it was real, that lingered in her heart.

She wondered where the chestnut haired Queen was now. She wondered if she thought of her, what she would think of her. Would she assist Sansa in what she was about to do?

It didn't matter, now.

She thought for a moment before she spoke, and she decided it would be stronger on her part to acknowledge his words as what they are, the truth, but-

"Your words will disappear," she said, her head held high, "Your House will disappear. Your name will disappear. All memory of you, will disappear"

As though on a ominous cue, Ramsay's hounds began to growl, low in their throat, a sound of impatience. His head turned toward the sound, as a look of understanding dawned on him. Sansa enjoyed it.

He slowly turned back to her as the snarling dogs drew closer, if you could call them that. Sans likened them to beasts, standing nearly as large as a direwolf, and deadly in their own right. It would not be a pleasant death, nor even close to just. Their teeth snapped, iridescent slime dripping from their maws, their haunches rose high and threatened.

"My hounds will never harm me."

"You haven't fed them in seven days, you said so yourself."

Ramsay sucked his teeth, his eyes burning into her through his shaggy, black hair, "they're loyal beasts."

"They were," Sansa acknowledged, "now they're starving."

The growling intensified, and Sansa swore she saw his adams apple bob in his throat, his own fear beginning to shine through, a sight that Sansa never had the pleasure of witnessing before. It felt quite powerful, to have these roles reversed. And she had won, despite what he says. She was alive, and would move on with her life, while he would not be afforded such luxuries.

Even if she never exacted revenge on the Lannisters, at least she had Ramsay.

One of the hounds, a great black creature, came pawing forth from the shadows, its nose raised to the trail of the fresh scent of blood. The iron, heavy in the air, had the beasts attention, and it wasted no time in coming to Ramsay's face, where the blood ran thick.

" _Sit_ ," Ramsay hissed, so quiet Sansa almost missed it. But she heard, she heard his desperation.

The dog began to lap at his face, once started it began to frenzy. Great huffing sounds came from it, as the prospect of food began to awaken its instincts, and the beast grew more aggressive in it's tasting.

"Stop _, STOP! DOWN_!" Ramsay now shouted, and for a moment the dog pulled back, its mighty jaws hanging open with a blood smeared tongue, breathing hard into Ramsay's pale face, then it lunged.

The sound of cracking bone and tearing flesh were barely drowned out by Ramsay's screams. And Sansa watched, even though it was disgusting, even though it made her stomach turn with each bit of flesh stripped from his skull, she didn't let her eyes leave him. She wanted him to see.

_The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword._

She supposed a hound would do in place of a blade.

* * *

Sansa was conflicted, and terribly so.

She eyed Lord Baelish from across the great hall, where all of the Northern Houses had gathered. Her brother Jon was wary of her trusting Baelish, but it's not as though she had much of a choice. She needed the Vale's help to take back Winterfell, and in doing so saved Jon's life. She would do it again, in a heartbeat, though Jon was correct in being cautious.

She finished having a non too pleasant conversation with the lord some time ago, and she would be lying if she said it didn't leave her unsettled. The way he spoke of taking the Iron Throne for himself, with _her_ at his side as his lady wife. Then he had actually tried to put his lips on her, and it was there she drew the line.

She had no desire to return to Kings Landing, especially at Littlefinger's side. Besides, Margaery still reigned as Queen, and there wasn't a chance in the Seven Hells that she would aid Lord Baelish in taking that from her, even if he felt it was owed to him after his assistance in battle.

Though word of the Dragon Queen's venture south had her on edge more than Baelish. Margaery was no fool, she would surrender the throne rather than die for it. She was not Cersei.

Then again, the Margaery she knew felt like a lifetime ago.

She was brought back to the present by Jon's booming voice to her right. He was normally soft spoken, but he was fitting well into a commander's role. Jon had come so far, Sansa's stomach still twisted in guilt when she thought of how she treated him as children, even though he insists he loses no sleep over it. Things were different now, as was she.

Added to the ever growing problems, perhaps the most fearsome of all, the coming of winter.

"I want every Northern maester to scour their records for any mention of dragon glass," he addressed, glancing around the room at the hardened Northern faces, "dragonglass kills white walkers and is more valuable to us than gold. We need to find it, we need to mine it, and we need to make weapons from it. Everyone, aged ten to sixty, will drill daily with spears, pikes, bow and arrow-"

It's about time we taught these boys of summer how to fight," one of the Northern lords spoke up, and words and fists of agreement went through the tables.

"Not just the boys," Jon said softly, eyeing the tall Brienne of Tarth, one of the most determined and talented swordsmen either of them had ever seen in action, "we cant defend the North if only half the population is fighting."

The room went silent, and Sansa watched as the Northern lords face twisted into disbelief, "you expect me to put a spear in my granddaughter's hand?"

Lyanna Mormont stood from her seat; a girl of only ten, born to the Great House of Bear Island. She was small in stature, but she had a fierceness to her that compensated her age, with more drive and Northern loyalty than most other lords and ladies.

"I don't plan on knitting by the fire while my men fight for me. I might be small, Lord Glover, and I might be a girl, but I am every bit as much a Northerner as you."

"Indeed you are, my lady, no one has questioned-"

"And I don't need your permission to defend the North," she spat out, effectively stopping Lord Glover mid sentence. Her eyes were blazing, and Sansa couldn't help but feel a sense of pride, being a Northerner. She remembered how folks in Kings Landing would whisper cruel words, their cold stares burning through her, whenever she dare wore her Northern gowns, or plaited her hair in a Northern style braid. But they didn't understand.

The North stands as a brotherhood, united and strong against the harsh elements and those who dare threaten their lands. Together, they are more than an opposing force, and it filled Sansa with hope when they all banded together to stand and fight the white walkers. She didn't know how she could ever have wanted to leave her home, how she could take such a beautiful place for granted.

Lyanna's eyes went to Jon, set in stony determination, "we'll begin training every man, woman, boy, and girl on Bear Island."

A series of enthusiastic "aye's!" rang through the hall as gloved fists pounded on the tables. Jon nodded to the girl, gratefully, before continuing, "while we're preparing our attack, we need to shore up our defenses. The only thing standing between us and the Army of the Undead is the Wall. And the Wall hasn't been properly manned for centuries. I'm not the King of the Freefolk, but if we're going to survive this winter together…"

Jon trailed off, his eyes searching Tormund Giantsbane's. The man was nearly a giant as his name would suggest, with a mop of wild red hair and an equally wild, equally fiery beard. The large mans eyes widened slightly, "you want us to man the castles for you?" he grunted in a deep, gravelly voice.

"Aye. Last time we saw the Night King was at Hardhome. The closest castle to Hardhome is Eastwatch-by-the-sea." Jon replied, a hint of pleading in his dark eyes.

"Then that's where I'll go. Looks like we're the Nights Watch now." Tormund said with a smile, as appreciative murmurs rippled through the room, though there were also some faces of distaste among them, particularly Lord Glover. They kept their peace however, aware of the gravidity of the situation at hand.

"If they breach the Wall," Jon started again, "the first two castles in their path are Last Hearth and Karhold."

"The Umbers and Karstarks betrayed the North!" on of the Lords shouted, no doubt remembering their association in overtaking Winterfell, something Sansa had not forgotten herself, "their castles should be torn down without a stone left standing!"

"The castles committed no crimes," Sansa found herself saying, annoyed with the mans stupidity, "we need every fortress we have for the war to come. We should give the Last Hearth and the Karhold to new families," she looked at Jon now, who looked less than pleased with her outburst, but she was the Lady of Winterfell, and she would have her say, "families who supported us against Ramsay."

Lyanna looked at her with nothing short of respect, and she had gained the rest of the room as well, for the familiar "aye!" rang in the hall once more.

All save for Jon.

"The Umbers and the Karstarks have fought alongside the Starks for centuries," he said, not looking at her, "they've kept faith for generation after generation-"

"-and then they broke faith," Sansa said, bewildered. She had grown to love Jon, truly, and felt terrible for how she treated him when they were young. But this was just ridiculous, they aided the taking of her home, _their_ home, and it should mean something to Jon as it does to her.

"I'm not going to strip these families of their ancestral home because of the crime of a few reckless sons," Jon fired back, and Sansa felt the anger in her chest knot up tighter.

"So there's no punishment for treason and no reward for loyalty?" she seethed, the scars on her back burning with remembrance, a ghost of an ache between her legs as a result of what he so violently took from her. The room went silent as they watched the tense exchange between family.

Jon stared at her, "the punishment for treason is death. Smalljon Umber died on the field of battle, Harold Karstark died on the field of battle-"

"They died fighting for Ramsay!" she snapped, her anger beginning to boil over. Of course Jon couldn't understand. No one would ever understand what Sansa went through at the hands of that man, and he was only capable of doing so with the help from the traitorous Houses. The fact that Jon could sit there in good faith knowing very well how wrong it was had Sansa's hearth thudding painfully in her chest, "give the castles to the families of the men who died fighting for _you_."

She saw Baelish's lips curl into a snide grin, but she wasn't doing this for him. She was doing what was right. She knew it was, because fists began to pound the tables once again, the loyal Northern Houses clearly in agreement.

Jon nodded to himself, clearly conflicted between his own beliefs and that of the room, of Sansa's own, "when I was Lord Commander of the Nights Watch, I executed men who betrayed me. My father always said, 'the man who passes the sentence, should swing the sword', and I have tried to live by those words. But I will not punish a son for his father's sins, and I will not take a family home away from a family it has belonged to for centuries. That is my decision, and my decision is final."

Sansa's heart twisted with the familiar feeling of betrayal, but she held her tongue and let put a frustrated sigh instead, her eyes fixed forward. Once again, it mattered not what she said. Of he wanted the traitors to keep their stone houses fine, but she would not forget.

"Ned Umber," Jon called into the crowd, summoning a small, fear stricken boy who had been hiding in the far back of the room, using shadows as protection. The boy, no more than ten, hesitantly stepped forward, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"Alys Karstark," Jon followed, and a young woman roughly Sansa's own age stepped forward as well, looking every bit as fearful as the boy. She even had fiery red hair, a shade close to Sansa's own. While Jon may spit his pity upon them, Sansa found that she had no sympathy for either of them, regardless of their age, and regardless that Sansa too, suffered for her own father's supposed sins. And she did not care that she felt not a shred of pity.

Jon regarded them carefully before speaking, "for centuries our families fought side by side on the battlefield. I ask you to pledge your loyalty once again to House Stark, to serve as our bannerman, and come to our aid whenever called upon."

Without a moments hesitation the youth drew their swords, and kneeled before Jon, effectively pledging their loyalty to the Starks, whatever it was worth. Sansa hoped Jon was satisfied, because she certainly wasn't, even if the glances around the room between the others said otherwise.

"Stand," said Jon, "yesterday's wars don't matter anymore. The North needs to band together, all the living North. Will you stand beside me, Ned and Alys, now and always?"

"Now and always!" They parroted back, and Sansa fought the urge to roll her eyes. While she knew her brother was right in stating their need of every man, woman, and child, Sansa couldn't shake the feeling of contempt towards those who wronged her House. Jon wasn't there to see what happened to her.

The room cheered as the pair of pups smiled nervously, and Sansa felt it was long overdue for a dismissal at this point. Her fingers curled around the wood of the chair, her back now on fire with a thousand pin pricks.

Jon too, must have sensed that the meeting should come to a close. He forced a smile at the crowded Northerners before him, all now pledged loyalty to the newly titled King of the North. Sansa was proud of Jon, truly. He was a fearless leader, with kind and gentle morals, though hardened through his hears spent at Castle Black, and he saw firsthand what the white walkers were capable of. She was proud to follow him into such a battle, and more than happy to call him her brother.

But in this moment, he lacked understanding. In his decision making, he only went off of his own personal beliefs, and not that of his allies Houses. It was clear the rest of the North felt as she did, because they were _here_ , while Jon was further North of the Wall. She couldn't blame him for his lack of understanding, though she could blame him for his lack of empathy.

"My lords, my ladies, I thank you for your dedication to our fight. Together, we are strong, and we will show the Night King his error in thinking he can attack our lands. This isnt just for us, but for our sons and daughters to follow. For the North!" he cheered, and the room stood in unison, pounding their fists about their chests.

" _For the North!"_

"Please," Jon added, "help yourselves to meat and mead tonight. Our rooms are warm and welcome. We will talk again soon regarding our upcoming plans."

The room mumbled a blessing to the King of the North, looking to Jon with admiration in their eyes. Sansa stood from her chair rather quickly, watching as the room flooded out through the door before she followed, acutely aware of Jon's following presence behind her.

The exited atop the battlements, the sky around them now darkening to a blueish grey with the setting sun behind the clouds. The air whistled around them as the wind picked up, the air atop here colder than elsewhere with the coming nightfall.

Jon's feet crunched in the snow behind her, quickly catching up to her side, "you may be my sister, but I am King now," Jon said in a low voice, though there was almost a hint of hurt to his tone.

"Will you start wearing a crown?" she shot back, knowing that the stab was uncalled for, but every time she thought of the betrayal of her House the fire in her belly was stoked anew.

"When you question my decisions in front of the other lords and ladies you undermine me," he said, his voice addled with frustration. He looked very much like her father when he furrowed his brow like that, his gruff voice even sounding like his some.

"So I can't question your decisions anymore?" she too, was building in annoyance. This was her home. She was the heir to Winterfell. He may be King, but she would be damned if she didn't have a say in the future of her House.

"Of course you can, but-"

"Joffrey never let anyone question his authority, you think he was a good King?" another low blow, one which she wasn't proud of this time, but her words were true nonetheless.

He stared at her, "you think I'm Joffrey?"

She receded, knowing very well when she was out of line, she never would think such a terrible thing of Jon, "you're as far from Joffrey than anyone I've ever met."

"Thank you," he said gratefully, glancing out over the battlements as a puff of smoke huffed from his mouth.

Sansa watched him for a moment, "you're good at this, you know."

"At what?"

"At ruling,"

"No…"

"You are," she insisted, the corner of her mouth tugging into a smile, "they respect you, they really do, but-"

She was cut off by an incredulous scoff from Jon, who was looking at her with amusement.

"Why are you laughing?" she asked.

"What did father used to say?" he chuckled, and began to walk along the snow covered path, Sansa beside him, "everything before the word 'but' is horseshit."

She kept her eyes to the ground, watching as her leather boots crunched in the snow, "he never said that to me."

Jon smiled, "no, no he never cursed in front of his girls."

She knew he was jesting, but she couldn't help but feel protective of her father even after all these years. Her father never shielded them from the truth, per say, but he did try and give them the most innocent upbringing he could provide. He only wanted them to be happy.

The wind picked up, biting at her exposed neck and she hauled her furs up higher onto her shoulders, "because he was trying to protect us. He never wanted us to see how dirty the world really is, but father couldn't protect me and neither can you. Stop trying."

"All right," he conceded, "I'll stop trying to protect you, and you stop trying to undermine me." The firmness was back in his tone, the voice he reserved when he was King of the North.

"I'm not trying to undermine you!" she cried in frustration, and she grabbed his arm to stop him from walking further. His eyes glanced to her hand, then back to her eyes, searching but not hard, "you have to be smarter than father. You need to be smarter than Robb. I loved them, I miss them, but they made stupid mistakes and they both lost their heads for it."

"And how should I be smarter? By listening to you?" he challenged.

Sansa was slightly taken back by his cut, for she had only wanted to give him the advice she _wished_ someone had given to her father, her brother. She didn't want another dead relative in her crypt anytime soon, was it so had she wanted to aid him anyway she could?

"Would that be so terrible?" she asked softly, the hurt evident in her voice. He must have noticed because his eyes softened then. He opened his mouth to speak, but something over her own shoulder had caught his eye, and she turned to see one of the maesters approaching. He was a tall, balding man, wearing long black robes with his heavy chain sounding around his neck. He held out his hand, a tiny roll of parchment clutched in his gloved hands.

"A raven from Kings Landing, your Grace," he said curtly, holding out the small piece. Sansa watched it with widened eyes, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. Jon took it and thanked the maester, making to open the parchment before Sansa grabbed his hands with a trembling grip.

"Jon," she hushed, "not here."

His brow furrowed in confusion and she remembered he did not know. She never spoke of her time in Kings Landing with Jon, as they had just reunited under stressing circumstances and were much more preoccupied with other matters. He had no idea about Margaery, and what Sansa had felt for the woman during her time there.

It felt like a lifetime ago.

"Trust me, please, let's go to my chambers," she pleaded, her grip still strong on his hand.

She was grateful that this time, he did not question her, instead squeezing the parchment in his fist at his side and made to follow her through the battlements in the direction of her chambers. Her mind was racing with a dozen different possibilities with most ending in some form of tragedy. She had not heard news from Kings Landing in years, other than little whispers of the goings on there, bits and pieces that were of little to no importance and difficult to piece together as factual. She couldn't say for sure if Ramsay had ever been in contact with anyone there, for he did not involve her in political matters. She wondered if Margaery knew of her marriage to the man.

She shut the large wooden door behind her, pressing it firmly closed and whirling around to face Jon. The room was warm, as the fire was tended to, and she unclipped her great fur and draped it on an adjacent chair.

She began to wring her hands nervously, unaware she was even doing the action. Her eyes were on Jon, on his fistful of parchment, unknowingly carrying the most important information to Sansa of all. Which was strange, after all these years of suppressing the memories of the chestnut haired beauty, she wouldn't think she would find herself so nervous to hear news of the woman, it was almost frightening that time had no effect, that Margaery still had some grip on her heart.

Jon watched her curiously, but did not question her strange behavior. Instead, her opened his hand, pinching the small scroll within his forefingers and peeling it apart. His eyes scanned the note, which seemed like an agonizing eternity, before his jaw set and his eyes steeled over, and Sansa felt cold dread grip her stomach, threatening the remnants within to come up.

"What?" she breathed, her ears aching as her heartbeat pounded inside, "what does it say, Jon?"

He licked his lips, dragging his eyes to meet hers reluctantly, and Sansa could see how unsettled he ways, that whatever in that note was something neither of them wanted to hear, but Sansa _needed_ to hear it, Gods how she needed to, and she felt her back press up against something hard and she realized she must have backed into the wall.

"Cersei has declared herself Queen of the Andals and the First Men, and Protector of the Seven Kingdoms"

Her stomach dropped as her bowels turned to rot inside her. It had to be wrong. If Cersei was declaring herself Queen, that could only mean-

"The Sept of Baelor has been destroyed. Blown up by Wildfire. The destruction resulted in the deaths of Lord Mace Tyrell-"

Sansa's hand had already flown to her mouth and she felt herself sag against the door more forcefully, a cold sweat breaking over her brow, chilling her deeper than the night air despite the roaring fire. She began to hyperventilate in small, quiet breaths, and Jon had not noticed.

"-Ser Loras Tyrell-"

Her eyes squeezed shut and she wanted to tell Jon to stop, and if she squeezed hard enough perhaps the blood in her ears wouldn't allow her to hear the ugly truth, and she tried desperately to shut off all her senses, to stop the rising bile in her throat, and the dizzying feeling in her vision threatening to knock her over.

"And the former Queen Margaery Tyrell."

The air was taken from her lungs as she met the floor without meaning to, unable to stop herself. Her legs went numb, as though she were paralyzed in an instant. Somewhere, she heard Jon calling her name as he rushed to her side, the sound of his boots tripping over the floor a faint echo underneath the roaring white noise in her head.

She felt the puncture in her chest as though it were the reason she couldn't breath, and she realized her heart must be ripping in two. Separating, lost, gone with the only thing that ever made her feel human.

Gone.

Margaery was dead.

And the Gods damn her for not staying by Margaery's side. For fleeing like a coward back on her wedding day, without so much as an explanation. If she had stayed things might have been different. She couldn't help but think of the possible different outcomes because anything, _anything_ , would have been better than this.

Winterfell suddenly didn't mean so much anymore.

And neither did the War of the Undead.

An anguished sound tore from her throat and it hurt, everything hurt _so_ much she couldn't even feel Jon's arms wrapped tightly around her, desperately trying to hold her broken self together but he was far too late. There was nothing that could be done for her now, this destroyed her beyond repair, Sansa knew it the moment her name left his lips.

She thought of her in that Sept, and it made her cry more.

Poor Jon was terribly confused, but held on tighter to her, whisper something she couldn't hear but the bass in his chest against her ear was somewhat soothing against the piercing ringing.

It took everything to swallow the sobs wracking her body, just long enough to gasp one final word, the only word she could say, the only one that came to mind, "M-Margaery " she cried in anguish, her body trembling as though she were chilled, the entire world around her blurred and frightening.

"Did you know her?" Jon questioned, she barely heard it in the air, but she heard it in his chest, deep and low travelling into her ear, and it didn't take her even a moment to know the answer to give him, the very thing she regretted never telling her when it truly mattered, because now it was worthless, as meaningless as wishes and storybooks that never came true.

"I… _I-loved her!_ " she blurted out, for the first time out loud, "I _loved_ her, Jon. W-with everything I h-have,' she stuttered hopelessly through her jarring sobs, the kind that tore through your chest and left you speechless. She didn't know how she could ever be the same after this. She allowed herself silly hopes once, like the wretched fool she was, to think that maybe one day she would see her again, whatever the outcome with the Dragon Queen and their own war with the Night King.

That despite the near impossible odds, perhaps they could overcome this madness and find their way back to each other somehow, even just for a visit.

Even just for a _moment_.

But that hope disappeared with Margaery's lifeblood, which now rest on Cersei's hands. In her grief, Sansa could see the appeal of Littlefinger's plan, for she desperately wished for that woman's painful death, needed to witness the life drain from her eyes after all the pain she had caused her in her lifetime.

Everything was Cersei's fault.

She could only pray, that when Daenerys Targaryan arrived to Kings Landing, with her army of thousands of foot soldiers and Dothraki horsemen, with her three dragons breathing fire as hot as the sun itself, with her sheer determination to claim what she is owed for her own suffering at the hands of the Lannister family, that Cersei would remember. Remember what she had stolen from others, that her rise to the throne is caked with the blood of innocents, when the Dragon Queen burned her Red Keep to the ground, turning all who dwell inside, even those who think themselves invincible on their iron chairs, into nothing but bitter ash.

May it be as slow and painful as Sansa's own grief.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay everyone, this chapter, as well as the few that follow, mark the beginning of ALL original scenes! So I hope to god you like them lol. There will be lots of mentions of abuse, and lots of comfort. And of course, lots of smut ;).   
> And can I just say, this chapter here is my pride and joy of the story. I loved writing it, and I think it came out really well :) let me know what you think!

**Kingsroad, 305 AC**

Her horse was tiring.

The way the old mare had slowed to a drag of its hooves a few miles back was all the indication she needed; she was surprised, that this had not come sooner. Together they had watched as lush grass turned to a soaked bog, and the bog into frosted ground, and even the frosted ground gave way to thick, fluffy snow, blanketing the world around her in a cold, white sheet. She had never seen snow before, and at first it saddened her that she had none to marvel in the sight with.

Until the cold set in.

Now, she almost couldn't stand the stuff, and it boggled her mind to no end that anyone could live in such harsh conditions, and she had a newfound respect for those who could call themselves Northerners. She certainly was not dressed for the climate, she already had scarce gold for food, let alone for clothes and comfort.

It was a miracle she had made it as far as she had, considering the Kingsroad could be such a dangerous place for anyone to travel, especially for a young woman by herself.

Her horse snorted, and she gave it a loving pat.

The snow had added to an already difficult situation, and while she had made it this far without any serious issues, this new element might stop her in her tracks, and while she knew she was so close to her destination too.

But the heaviness in her lungs told her that both she and the mare would die out here if they didn't reach shelter soon. The sickness had started just that morning, beginning with a dull ache in her temples and a sniffle in her nose. She could tell it was worsening, it the fluid building in her chest was any indication.

They wouldn't be able to go much further.

Though further they did, another hour, maybe two. Her hands were frozen in place on the reins, and her feet definitely felt the worst of it. Thin boots not made for winter were all the barrier she had between her skin and the harsh air. Her feet were already terribly susceptible to the cold, considering not much covered them other than scar tissue and weak, discolored skin.

She hadn't realized she had begun to cry.

All that she had been through, all she survived, just to die on the frozen road. Her body would probably be buried, and she would not be discovered for months.

Alone in the cold.

Her horse had slowed to a near crawl at this point, and she let the reigns slip out of her hands, opting to tuck them into her thin coat instead, it's not like it mattered anymore. She let her chin hit her chest as she huddled into herself, praying her death be merciful.

She swallowed another sob, feeling terribly sorry for herself, and even more foolish. Her horse huffed almost sympathetically, and she lowered her forehead to the gentle mare, sobbing into it's snow dusted coat, hoping that if she didn't survive this, maybe someone would at least find this sweet mare, before it too met the same fate.

She thought it was her heart pounding in her frozen ears, or perhaps she was truly losing her mind, but the sound of soft thuds seemed to grow in volume with each passing second, until it had her head parked up and searching for the direction from whence it came.

Her heart leapt in her throat as she saw the approaching coach coming through the trees around the corner behind her, a great tree of a man holding the reigns, a large black beard poking out from a knitted wool cap. The furs draped around his shoulders probably made him seem larger than he was, but he was impressive nonetheless.

It was the miracle she had so desperately needed.

She pulled the hood from her head in order to get a better view, and while she knew speaking to any strange man on the Kingsroad could very well be a death sentence in itself, it would seem she was left without many options. The mans head was fixated on her, his posture leaned forward as though he were struggling to see what she was.

"By the Gods!" he rumbled as he drew near, his voice a deep baritone. He pulled the reigns taught to his chest, the pair of horses grunting smoke into the icy air at the abrupt halt, "You mad, woman? You'll catch your death in that there outfit. What in the Seven Hells are you doing out here?"

She tried to quell the chatter of her teeth to no avail, her words coming out in a stuttering mess, "I-I'm trying to reach W-Winterfell," she stammered, "h-how far?"

"No more than a half days ride," he replied gruffly, "We're just on the outskirts of Castle Cerwyn. But you won't make it a half day in that there." He eyed her as her breaths came out in labored wheezes, the sickness making her throat thick. She tried to fix her eyes on the man though she desperately wanted to close them, but she knew this might be her only chance of survival.

"Gods be damned girl, you sick?"

She only managed a weak nod and swallowed thickly, wondering vaguely if a fever would set in. If she didn't get out of this weather soon, it surely would, most likely resulting in her death. The man jumped from the wagon, the carriage swaying to the left and right as a great weight was taken off. His boots crunched towards her, though there was kindness in his eyes. He swiftly undid his fur, wrapping it snug around her shoulders. It was still warm from his body, and she was beyond grateful for the gesture, no matter the intent at this point.

"T-thank you."

He held out a hand to help her dismount, steadying her as she swayed on the ground while her head swam. He smelled of wood smoke and pine, he too must have been on the Kingsroad a while. He must have caught up to her when her horse slowed, and she wondered how long they had truly been crawling forward.

"Lucky for you, I'm on my way to Winter town. I can put ya in the back, if you like. You'll be shielded from the wind at the very least."

Her eyes slipped shut as relief washed over her, thanking the Gods for answering her prayers. Perhaps she would get to Winterfell after all, she need only last a half day more. She nearly sagged in the man's thick arms as he guided her to the back of the wagon and hoisted her up. The back had some various supplies scattered about, most of it boxed it but she did spot a carrier of wine. Her discoveries told her he must be a merchant of some sort.

"What of my horse?" she asked weakly, not wanting to abandon her only friend she had in her journey. The man however, looked a little disbelieving.

"Can't rightly say for sure if she'll make it the trip. But I'll put her on a lead, we'll see how much fight she's got left. Worst comes to worst we can leave her at Castle Cerwyn, I'm sure they'll be more than happy to take a free horse."

At that she relaxed slightly, uncaring so long as the mare survived the trip as well. She settled in the back and the wagon began to rock, signaling they had taken off once again. The soft crunch of the wheels filled the air, with the occasional breath of the horses. Her eyes began to slip shut, exhaustion nearly overtaking her, when the man began to speak.

"So what's your name, girl?" he asked, glancing to the back at her.

"Ygritte," she said, as she practiced many times before. It was so automatic she didn't even have to think of it anymore. It was practically the truth.

"Where you comin' from? You must've been on that road awhile?" he questioned again curiously. Margaery didn't mind answering the mans questions, she knew what was and wasn't safe to reveal.

"Braavos," she said, reminiscing on what a long journey it had been indeed. She spent the last two years in the eastern city, working as a simple wash maid for the kind family that took a chance on her. She looked back fondly at that time in her life, while certainly not glamorous, she truly had been happier than before. Life was more simple, less chaotic, and she found she finally had time to appreciate the little things in life.

But with news of the destruction of Kings Landing, she knew it was time to come home to Westeros.

To the newly crowned Queen of the North.

"Braavos!" he exclaimed, looking back to her again with wide eyes, "I can't believe it! And you made it all the way here?" his voice was incredulous, and she couldn't help but feel a little surprised herself, proud too. She knew it would be a harrowing journey when she departed, but she figured after everything she endured thus far, that a journey to the North couldn't be impossible surely.

She had underestimated the North, however. It was harsh, and unforgiving to outsiders.

"I suppose I did," she said, with a slight smile on her face, "obviously, I wouldn't have made it much further, if you hadn't found me. I thank you, again."

"Thank nothing of it. You got the Gods on your side, Miss Ygritte. I'm Rutger, by the way. A humble tradesmen of the North, Wintertown being my true home. I haven't been home in over a month, missing the youngin's terribly." He said fondly as he gazed into the white distance, "tell me, what's so important in Winterfell for you to travel all this way, risking your life no less?"

She smiled, the reminder of why she was here was the only thing that could bring her to do so. She thought about her journey to this point, and decided that it was worth it, and she would do it again, a thousand times over. Her heart sang at the prospect of Winterfell's great walls, the fruits of her labor very nearly in sight, everything the years had thrown at her was leading up to this very moment, and the mere thought filled her with a nervous energy that made her feel like she could skip there if she had the chance.

Her smile grew, her eyes shining with relief and longing, "I'm going to see the Queen."

* * *

It was surreal, seeing the castle walls of Winterfell for the first time. It didn't look as she imagined, but then again, nothing ever does when you see it in reality. For starters, it was much larger than she thought it would be, looking almost as though it could be a small town. She couldn't see much of the buildings inside, as the stone walls rose too high for her vision. It was also nearing dinner at this point, though the clouds did not betray where the sun was here.

Thankfully, the half days ride in Rutger's wagon had given her ample time to rest, and she at least felt like she wasn't going to pass out every time she stood. She thanked the man a thousand thanks for bringing her directly to the castle and all. Unfortunately, she did have to part with the fur he lent her, for it was his only one, and the cold was even more biting here than it had been earlier. She only hoped she wouldn't have to be left out for long, she just had to get inside.

Her frozen feet crunched towards the guards who stood vigilantly outside the open gate. When she got closer, she was able to make out some activity in the courtyard beyond the walls. Various swordsmen practicing their parries and thrusts in the fading light, maidservants bustling around with whatever task they had assigned. She licked her lips at how _close_ she was, though she hadn't thought of what to say upon her arrival.

She slowed as she arrived in front of the men, who seemed to shoot her incredulous looks just as Rutger had.

"State your business, young lady," the rather scrawny guard closest to her said, his lips moving under a thick brush of moustache.

"I'm here to see the Queen" she started, realizing how lame she sounded when the guards exchanged glances of exasperation, "please, she and I are friends, from a long time past."

The other guard harrumphed, "we received no word of the Queen expecting visitors. And judging by those tattered rags, you have the look of a peasant girl looking for a handout. Get lost."

She hugged her arms a little tighter to herself, panic beginning to set in, "Please, sir-"

" _Move. Along."_ the man said in a low voice, advancing menacingly towards her, his grip tightening on the pommel of his sword.

A flash of blonde behind him, just there in the courtyard, caught her attention even in the tense situation she was in. There it was, a mop of short, platinum blonde locks, atop a rather tall form, cloaked in black armor-

"Brienne," she whispered as realization hit her. She looked wildly at the guard, who was clearly losing patience with her, and made to grab at her arm, "Lady Brienne of Tarth!" she said pointing desperately into the courtyard, and the guards grip loosened slightly, "please, get Lady Brienne, she _knows_ me, she will vouch for me!"

The guard looked to his friend, whose eyes narrowed at Margaery as though searching for a lie. He looked in the direction of her hand, following her gaze to Brienne, who was indeed standing there, coaching the swordsmen it seemed. Margaery was overjoyed that Brienne too, had made it out all right.

The guard turned back, giving a shrug of his shoulders, "she seems to know what she looks like, at least. All right miss," he said, wiggling a finger at her, "you'll stay right here with Gavon, we'll see if Lady Brienne can confirm your story."

It felt like an eternity, watching the guard stalk over to Brienne. When he approached she turned around, looking first at the guard than in Margaery's direction. Her heart skipped a beat as the tall woman approached, suddenly overcome with the ridiculous notion of how screwed she would be if Brienne somehow did not recognize her, even if she looked the same, just different without her hair done regally, without the lavish gowns and adornments.

Brienne was squinting at her at first, and she swore she heard the woman mumble, "did you get her name?"

"No, my lady, my apologies, she seemed quite urgent."

Brienne's confusion was short lived, for when she removed her hood, the look of recognizance was immediate, and she watched the air leave Brienne's lungs out of a jaw-dropped mouth in a huff of smoke. Her hand went to clasp her chest over her armor, surely as though she were seeing a ghost. In a weird sort of way, it was almost true.

" _Gods_ ," she gasped, and now it was the guards turn to look confused. Brienne looked to the both of them as though she just realized they were there, slipping back into her professional demeanor. She cleared her throat, "The young lady will be coming with me. Return to your posts."

The guards exchanged incredulous looks once more, before giving Margaery some suspicious glances but went back to the gate regardless. Brienne watched them go, before her eyes returned to her, widening as they did the first time.

"Come," she breathed urgently, placing a comforting hand on Margaery's shoulder and guiding her towards the castle. They didn't get far, as Brienne seemed to pull her into the nearest doorway, and she found herself in a dark, empty stone hall, unknowing where it may lead.

She was in Brienne's arms before she could even take in her surroundings, the large woman gripping her in a tight hug as she let a frantic whoosh from her lungs, "Lady Margaery!" she exclaimed quietly, pulling back to push Margaery's chestnut locks from her face, and cupped her cheeks with her hands, "You're _alive?_ I can't believe this!" she studied her further, her gaze scrutinizing, as though it must be some sort of trick, "you don't look well, my lady. Of course you don't, after such a journey. What…what on earth happened, my lady?" she whispered the last part, her face etched in concern, no doubt wondering how Margaery had risen from the grave after these years past.

Margaery could barely hold back her tears, at the sight of a warm, familiar face, Brienne's no less, "it's a long story," she whispered, her voice breaking with emotion, "I nearly died at the Sept but I…I escaped," she tried to push down her survivors guilt whenever she thought of running down those steps that day, "but I was hurt…badly…for _months_ ," the painful memory flashed in her mind, being laid up in the bed at a kind old woman's house, who had painstakingly nursed her back to health as much as she could, the searing pain of the various paste being applied to her burnt skin, which hung from her limbs like tattered curtains, "and then Cersei…"

The emotion was too great, and she looked away with great shame. Shame that she never returned, even when she had gained the ability to walk again. Instead, she ran to Braavos, terrified Cersei had eyes everywhere, and even there it took her weeks to go outside. She couldn't even write her poor dear grandmother, in fear that her raven would be intercepted, and now Lady Olenna was gone, and Margaery would never have that chance again.

Brienne grabbed both her shoulders, looking at her with smoldering eyes full of their own emotion, "You listen to me, my lady. All that matters, the _only_ thing that matters, is that you're alive. None would blame you for not coming back sooner. You were wise to stay away."

"Cowardly," Margaery sniffed, averting her gaze once again, unable to mask her guilt.

" _Wise_ ," Brienne repeated sternly, before her face softened into that of relief, which very quickly turned into what looked like an epiphany, "Oh Gods, Sansa! My lady, Sansa needs to see you. It will bring her so much joy, so much peace she has not felt in years."

Margaery dabbed at her eyes, her stomach in flips at the reminder of why she came, "it will?"

Brienne looked very conflicted for a moment, as though debating whether or not she would say this next bit, and Margaery desperately wished she would. She had heard whispers here and there of the goings on in Westeros once the Dragon Queen had burned Kings Landing, and the news of Sansa's coronation filled her with a profound joy she hadn't felt in a long time. She heard of Sansa's marriage to Ramsay Bolton, and some of the unpleasant rumors that went along with it, ones she could only pray were false.

But she knew in her heart, it wasn't the case.

"My lady," Brienne said, glancing around despite them being alone, "much has changed since you left, as I'm sure you know. Much about Sansa has changed, too, since her departure from Kings Landing. As you can see, some of that was for the best. Sansa is Queen now."

Margaery waited with bated breath, knowing very well there was much more to the story.

"But," Brienne continued, "much changed for the worst, too. What that Ramsay did to her…" Brienne visibly shuddered, turning Margaery's bowels to mush, "it is not my place to say. But what he did is something I would not wish upon any one. With that being said, even that she came out of, changed, but stronger. It was a turning point in her life that made her the ruler she is today, even if it dimmed the light in her."

Margaery's heart quivered at the knowledge of Sansa's hardship. She tried not to image how Ramsay fulfilled every one of Joffrey's wishes, tried to ignore how he made Joffrey look like a saint. Instead she tried to focus on the Sansa that was here now, the survivor, as was she.

"But Margaery, I have to say…when news of your death reached Sansa, she lost that light. Whatever was left, the last bit of hope Sansa held in her heart was extinguished the day the raven arrived. She changed once again, this time not for the better. Your death affected her in ways that life had not done so in the past."

Guilt rose in her once more, and this time she did picture Sansa crying over her death, alone and shattered and utterly lost, just as Margaery would be had the roles been reversed. Fresh tears filled her eyes, and she pressed the heels of her palms to them out of frustration.

"I should have wrote her," Margaery cried softly, "instead of letting her sit with that pain, letting her believe… _Gods_ Brienne, w-what if she hates me for it?"

Brienne pulled her into a much needed hug, and Margaery held onto her so tightly, as the woman stroked her hair softly, lovingly, as a mother would do.

"Trust me," Brienne soothed, "Sansa wants to see you. Nothing in this world would make her happier," she pulled out of the embrace, dipping her head to meet Margaery's eyes, "are you ready?"

Margaery wasn't sure if she would ever be ready, so she opted to just latch onto Brienne's arm and allowed her to guide her down the hall, "why am I so nervous?" she asked meekly.

Brienne gave her a warm smile, squeezing her arm in kind, "it's normal to be nervous. It has been a long time. But it will all be more than all right, you will see."

Her legs felt like stone as she put each foot in front of the other, and it felt like they were moving so quickly despite her exhaustion. Her nerves spiked with every corner they round, with every doorway they passed, wondering which hall Sansa would be in, which of the doors she would be behind.

They ascended some steps, through a door that led them outside and Margaery realized she was atop the battlements. She looked over the wooden railing, down into the now empty courtyard, the swordsmen gone inside by now. The wind howled up here, prompting her to walk even quicker, the cold a harsh reminder of her state of dress.

They stopped outside a large, double wooden door, and Margaery's heart went to her throat when Brienne gave her an expecting look. All she could do was chew her lip, and look to the woman with the fear in her eyes, unable to hide it. Despite this, she found herself nodding slowly.

Brienne gave her arm a comforting squeeze as her other hand went to the door, and Margaery steeled herself on held breath as it creaked open, the wind almost pushing at her back to hurry her inside.

Her eyes need only a second to take in her surroundings of the hall before she saw her.

In the center of the head table, the lone person in the room, hunched over heaps of parchment with the shred of a candle beside her, lighting up her features like a beacon in the dark room.

The first thing that crossed Margaery's mind, was how beautiful she was in black.

The summer gowns never suited Sansa, just as she always expected, but this was better than she could have ever imagined. She wore a black, fitted gambeson made from what looked like a fine leather, and Margaery wouldn't be opposed to never seeing Sansa in a gown again. A large silver clasp hung over her breast, with chains woven inside to hold the large grey fur on her shoulders, making her look larger then before, and fierce. More akin to a warrior, than a Queen, though she supposed this was the Northern fashion, and she was enamored.

Atop her head, a crown. A beautiful, elegantly simple piece of silver.

The next thing she noticed were the girl's features. Much to her delight, it seemed Sansa's eating habits must have improved. Her once near concave cheeks were now filled out to a healthy weight, giving her jaw a more set, Northern look, like a Stark. Her hair seemed a darker red, more like wine now, though it might just be in contrast to the white scenery Margaery's eyes had grown accustomed to. Perhaps a little longer, too, but no less breathtaking.

And lastly, was the undeniably aura about the woman. There was a regality that was not present before, a confidence. There was a Queen underneath that frightened girl she knew in Kings Landing, it was obvious now, and Sansa didn't have to say a word. It was in the way she carried herself, the rise of her shoulders.

She didn't even feel the tears pouring down her face.

Sansa, bless the woman, had not even looked up from her work at the sound of the door. She remained fixated on the parchment, her writing hand moving furiously across the scroll, unfazed by whomever was entering her hall.

"Your Grace-" Brienne's voice sounded, nearly making Margaery jump.

"Brienne," Sansa said impatiently, sounding oh so like herself, like her wonderful voice always had. She still would not look up from the dreaded parchment, and the suspense had Margaery nearly keeling over, "I'm up to my neck in these documents. There are more repairs to be done than I even know where to start, so whatever has you disturbing me better be good," she grumbled, though not too angrily.

Margaery couldn't help but give a watery smile to Brienne, who returned it in kind. Sansa was a good Queen, clearly dedicating all of her time to her people and her home, so much so that she couldn't even spare a glance their way, not without some prompting, of course.

Brienne cleared her throat, giving a knowing smile to Margaery who still trembled nervously at her side, "Your Grace, Lady Margaery of House Tyrell."

Sansa's head had snapped up at the first syllable of her name, not even needing to hear the rest of her title.

The quill fell from her hand, forgotten on the once important piece of parchment. Sansa looked like she tried to stand, though it ended up being half between sitting, as though she didn't trust her legs to hold her. Her mouth opened, then closed. And opened again.

"B-Brienne," she stuttered, her voice a bare whisper, though her eyes were fixed on Margaery, only on her, "the chambers adjacent to mine-have them prepared. A-a bath, food…" she stuttered, and Margaery could only smile through her tears, that of course Sansa was thinking of her comfort first, rather than her own feelings.

She saw Brienne bow in her peripheral, and promptly turn on her heel to leave the room. Margaery's nerves only increased now that she was alone with Sansa, unsure of exactly how she will be received. Before either of them spoke, Margaery sank on weak legs into what she intended to be a kneel, for her Queen.

"Your Gra-"

" _No_!" Sansa cried, her arm actually reaching for Margaery, despite the distance still between them, and Margaery froze in her action before straightening again, looking unsure of herself for a moment. She could see Sansa's eyes well with tears, and her lip began to tremble.

"You do not kneel to me," Sansa sobbed then, and all Margaery could do was clasp her hands to her mouth, both of them, as her own body was wracked with sobs and she sank to her knees anyway. Before she had even reached the floor, Sansa was there, strong arms gripping her desperately, fearfully, as though she would float away in a moments glance.

" _Margaery_!" she wailed, uncaring of her position, for she was not Queen in this moment, but Sansa, "oh Margaery, I'm sorry, _I'm sorry! I sh-should have never left you!"_ Sansa was hysterical, and her sobs only made Margaery cry more, so much so she couldn't even speak herself, but she needed Sansa to know it wasn't her fault.

She tried to take deep, heaving breaths, "n-no," she gasped, "don't ever blame yourself, sweet girl. _Gods_ look at you, Queen… _oh Sansa_ …"

"Please," Sansa pleaded, a strong need in her voice that shook Margaery to her core, "don't leave me again, please Margaery, G-Gods…" Margaery wasn't sure in what way Sansa meant that; if she meant she wanted her to stay in Winterfell with her, or just to stay alive, but she supposed it didn't matter for now. They would talk soon, everything, at least whatever Sansa wanted to share with her. But Margaery would tell her every thing as she knew it, what happened at Joffrey's wedding, at the Sept of Baelor, how she never meant for any of this to happen. She only hoped Sansa would not be angered by her grandmother using her, after all Margaery had no knowledge of it. But it had led to the chain of events of Sansa's marriage to Ramsay, and she wasn't sure if the damage done didn't produce some resentment toward Olenna.

But it didn't matter now, she told herself once again. Because Sansa was holding her, wanted her here.

"I won't," Margaery choked out, like a mantra, "I won't, I won't…"

"Oh Margaery, when I th-thought…when I _thought_ …" she couldn't speak the words past her tears, and opted instead to lean back just far enough to look into Margaery's eyes, shaking her head at the statement she couldn't say, "we have time, all the time, t-to talk about it," Sansa stammered through her cries, as though she had just been reading Margaery's own mind. Margaery just nodded, not trusting her voice to say another word.

Sansa pressed her forehead to Margaery's, gazing into her eyes and Margaery happily lost herself in her own sea of blue, utterly amazed at the beauty that was Sansa now. She had always, obviously, had a deep attraction for the woman, but this had taken it to a much grander scale.

She had almost allowed her eyes to slip shut when she noticed Sansa's brow furrowing, and she began to look at her with suspicious alarm. Before Margaery could open her mouth to say something, Sansa had pulled back and was tearing a glove off of her hand. She cast it aside and pressed the back of her hand to Margaery's forehead, before letting out a strangled gasp and nearly jumping to her feet.

" _You're sick_!" She cried, looking terribly worried, and Margaery wondered if she would die from guilt this day, "Gods, Margaery, you should have said something!"

Margaery didn't even try to find a reply for that, instead she let Sansa help her to her feet, before she gallantly removed the fur from her shoulders and draped it around Margaery's trembling frame. In that moment Margaery cursed her sickness for interrupting their reunion.

"Come," Sansa hushed, "your room should be prepared, I'll fetch the maester to tend to you first, then we'll get you a bath and a warm meal."

"You needn't worry-"

"Of course I do," Sansa insisted, "I've lost you once, I'll be damned if I lose you to a cold."

The steely determination in her tone was all Margaery needed to know this was a battle she would not win, and instead let Sansa support her as they walked quickly through the castle once again. It was a bit of a longer walk this time, though Margaery did not mind walking anymore as long as she had Sansa on her side. She did have some difficulty when they reached the tower, the steps proving harsh on her lungs, and she had to stop when a hacking cough took her body. She tried to wave it off to Sansa, but it only worried her further.

The maester was already in the room waiting for them, bless Brienne's heart, along with a steaming tub and a roaring fire. She took in the room as she sat on the bed, vaguely hearing the conversation between Sansa and the maester, but she was too exhausted to hold her attention. Now that she was sitting in the warmth, the adrenaline of her arrival wearing off, she realized just how awful she felt.

The man took her jaw gently, peering down her throat. He looked in her eyes and in her ears, and placed a hand on her back as he asked her to breathe deep. She was taken with a violent cough again, and he gave her a comforting rub before straightening.

"Good news is, there doesn't appear to be much fluid in the lungs, we'll give her a mixture of beetroot and honey tea to help remedy that. She is beginning a fever, though I am confident it will break, so long as she stays in bed and in the warmth." He said jovially, his great chains clinking with his short steps.

"She'll be all right? You're sure?" Sansa asked, chewing her bottom lip. Margaery just noticed now that she had been pacing nervously the entire time.

"Quite sure," the maester said, "she's young, strong. I'll send up the tea, Your Grace."

He bowed and shuffled out of the room, leaving them alone once again. Margaery sagged on the bed, but she eyed the steaming tub in the center of the room, knowing it was desperately needed before she even thought of sleep. She smiled weakly at Sansa, who had come to sit beside her, her face looking adorably awkward.

"I…I can leave, and give you your privacy," Sansa muttered, her face growing red, her eyes averting from Margaery's. And there was the wall, the one Sansa had built up. While she seemed like her normal self in their first meeting, she now seemed more reserved by comparison. She didn't know the details of Sansa's abuse at the hands of Ramsay, but she did know that it ran deeper than she could possibly imagine, perhaps changing Sansa's own sexual nature.

But Margaery didn't want Sansa to leave, and deep down, she didn't think Sansa wanted to either.

"I don't want you to go," Margaery said softly, "and I…I may need your assistance."

She saw Sansa's throat rise as she swallowed hard, her eyes meeting Margaery's once again. She opened her mouth as though she wanted to speak, though she instead looked away almost shamefully.

"What is it?" Margaery prompted, placing a hand over Sansa's.

"It's…it's silly…" Sansa started, her eyes focusing on the fireplace instead, the flames dancing in her blue eyes, "I feel like if I take my eyes off of you, you'll disappear…"

Margaery's heart squeezed at the admission, and she shuffled closer to pull Sansa to her, nestling her head under the other woman's chin, "then don't take your eyes off of me."

Sansa gasped softly and wrapped her arms around Margaery, burying her head in her hair, and Margaery heard her sigh almost sadly. What heartbreak she must have been through, to think Margaery dead. It was as though she could feel the weight of the years slowly melting off of her with every exhale in her arms.

"Come," Sansa said suddenly, lifting herself to a stand and holding out a hand for Margaery, "let's get you clean. You must be exhausted."

Margaery had to admit that the bed of furs was oh so inviting, but she wouldn't dare climb in them without washing the filth from herself first. She went to remove her top cloak, her weak hands fumbling with the buttons before Sansa stepped in to help her. She watched Sansa's face, the way her jaw set almost painfully, and it occurred to Margaery that there was something wrong there. While Sansa was kind enough to offer to help Margaery, it was clear that Sansa was uncomfortable with the thought of her nudity. She wasn't sure for what reason, if it was _any_ nudity Sansa's felt strange around, or just Margaery's because of her history. As she suspected, something must have changed within Sansa with regards to sexuality, something Ramsay Bolton changed for her.

But she said nothing, and allowed Sansa to help her, when suddenly, another thought occurred to her, one that made herself feel a discomfort of her own.

"Sansa," Margaery started, her hands coming to clasp the younger woman's, stopping her, "I'm afraid my body will not be what you remember…"

Sansa looked at her, confusion etched in her features. Margaery sighed, her eyes downcast, "there is scarring. Uhm…a lot of it."

Sansa's eyes widened, her brows furrowed in concern, and her hands came to rest on her shoulders, "I…you were at the Sept of Baelor? I thought maybe, when you returned, the reports had been wrong, that you weren't actually there?"

Margaery's eyes slid shut, the painful memory flashing behind her eyelids, "I was there…I…I barely made it out."

"Oh _Margaery_ ," Sansa cried softly, her fingers only acting again once Margaery had nodded her reassurance. Sansa pressed her forehead to Margaery's, and she breathed deep the scent that was Sansa Stark, "I'm so, _so_ sorry…"

But Margaery could only shut her eyes as Sansa removed the rest of the clothing that hid her mangled flesh on her legs, and the sharp gasp that cut through the air was all Margaery needed to hear to know she had broken Sansa's heart.

The scars covered her feet completely, turning them into dark pink rivulets, not looking much like actual flesh anymore. One good thing about being in Winterfell, she never had to worry about wearing an open toe shoe. The burns had ran the expanse of her legs, nearly to the top of her thigh, and in the back it had completely covered her rear and part of her back. Half of her body, entirely in ruins.

And Sansa sank to her knees, her head resting against the mangled flesh of Margaery's thigh, and she wept. She wept as her fingers caressed the ruined skin of her calves, up to the back of her knees, the sensitive skin shivering under her touch.

"Margaery," Sansa wept softly, "I'm s-sorry, Margaery…"

Margaery swallowed her own sob, not wanting to break Sansa further, Hells she could barely stand the sight of her now, the Queen of the North kneeling at her feet, and she felt terribly undeserving and ashamed for making Sansa feel such pain, "it's all right, sweet girl…I am alive…"

Sansa, remembering herself, as well as Margaery's fragile condition, rose quickly to her feet after taking a sharp breath to steady her composure, "forgive me," she said quietly, "let's get you in the water."

But Sansa was still looking terribly conflicted, and Margaery was beginning to think it might have been a bad idea to show Sansa so soon. She was clearly going through a whirlwind of emotions, from Margaery's return to now seeing the state she was in, it must be increasingly hard on her. She allowed Sansa to aid her into the tub, groaning as she submerged herself into the steaming water, the heat caressing her aching muscles and tingling her scarred skin.

" _Gods_ ," she moaned, "it's perfect, thank you Sansa."

"I'm glad," Sansa whispered as she fetched various bottles of oils and soaps. She brought the stool to the edge of the tub, lathering the soap in her hands and began to massage it into Margaery's scalp. Weeks worth of filth, grime, and sweat began to wash out and Margaery was so grateful for Sansa's gentle hands, she could have wept herself.

" _Mmmphh_ ," she moaned again, allowing her head to dip forward as Sansa massaged her neck, "feels so good…"

But Sansa said nothing, and the silence was almost unnerving, so much so that once Margaery rinsed her hair she was about to turn to address her concerns with Sansa, but before she could, strong arms took her once again, gripping her from behind with the younger girls arm wrapped around her chest, the other gripping her shoulder, as her head came to rest next to hers.

"I just can't believe you're here," Sansa whispered in her ear, her voice still broken with emotion, "I've missed you, so much…"

Margaery's eyes slid shut as tears pricked them again, and she wrapped her own arms around the leather clad ones that held her tightly now, planting a chaste kiss to the bicep next to her cheek, "and I've missed you, sweet girl, all I could think of was getting to you."

They held each other in silence a moment, though this one less tense than the last, then Sansa spoke, "you wouldn't…rather return to Highgarden?"

In all honesty, Margaery hadn't thought of Highgarden. With her entire House assumed dead, she figured it was given to another, and she wasn't sure if she should feel guilty for not giving it a thought, though truthfully, it hadn't felt like her home in some time.

"What has become of Highgarden?" she asked, not much caring for the answer.

"The land was given to Ser Bronn. But with you alive, it is rightfully yours, should you ever want to return. Bran will make it so."

Margaery watched the reflection if the flames on the surface of the water, rippling about in an orange haze, almost hypnotically, "and…if I didn't want that? If I wanted to remain here, in Winterfell?"

She held her breath, unsure if she was overstepping boundaries, basically asking for Sansa to clothe, feed, and shelter her, for she had no titles nor gold to offer in return. Even her name meant not much anymore.

But Sansa squeezed her tighter, almost sagging into her with what sounded like a sigh of pure relief, "then I say, welcome home," she said softly, her voice wavering with fresh tears.

Margaery couldn't help the sob that escaped her, her own relief flooding through her now that she had gotten the big question out of the way. She could remain here, permanently, and Sansa seemed happy to have her. She finally had a home, once again.

"Thank you, Sansa…"

A sudden knock at the door had Sansa pulling away, and did Margaery ever feel the loss from that. Now that she saw Sansa, she too didn't want her out of her sight. More than that, she wanted Sansa to stay near her, to remain touching her. Margaery couldn't speak on Sansa's behalf, but she knew the moment she saw her, that she still loved the woman. She knew the entire time, throughout all these years, every time she crossed her mind. But seeing her in the flesh made it all feel so real, all over again.

It was the maester, with the tea, though they were mumbling something in the doorway that Margaery couldn't hear. Sansa sighed when she closed the door, setting the tray down on the beside table and turning to Margaery.

"Let me help you out of there, I'm afraid I must address the small council regarding this. Don't worry-" she assured Margaery when she saw her eyes widen in fear, "I'll be informing them that you are indeed alive and under the protection of House Stark, of myself personally. No doubt word has travelled of your arrival. Have you given them you're name?" Margaery shook her head in the negative, "looks like they're in for a surprise as well, though they are all of Northern descent aside from Brienne, it will not phase them much."

She wrapped Margaery gently in cloth, drying her off thoroughly before turning and handing her a bundle of small clothes. Something in Sansa's actions was almost mechanical, though her words were soft and as warm as ever. She was almost making a point to avoid accidentally seeing Margaery's body, and it pained Margaery to witness. She shouldn't be surprised, after whatever torture she had endured, and Margaery would he foolish to expect Sansa to just go right back to kissing her like they used to. But it was shameful, almost, that Margaery would gladly do just that, if she could.

She wondered what they were now, once the shock of Margaery's survival wore off.

She was dressed, and Sansa pulled back the furs on the bed for her, helping her lower her weakened body into the bed. It was welcoming, and she saw the appeal of being curled up in a warm bed while a fire roared nearby and a blizzard raged outside. You didn't get the same sort of comfort in the southern nights.

Sansa gazed at her a moment, taking one of her hands into both of hers, watching her. She was fearing Margaery's disappearance again, Margaery could tell by the worry in her brow, the reluctance to leave her alone. So she gave her a reassuring, sleepy smile.

"I'm not going anywhere, dear wolf. I will be right here when you return."

Sansa looked unsure, but she tried to mask it as she nodded, dropping Margaery's hand reluctantly.

"I'll send food when I go downstairs," Sansa whispered, "and I'll return as soon as I can."

"Take your time," Margaery soothed, smiling weakly at her, "you're a good Queen."

And Sansa smiled back at that statement, and to see her filled with such confidence made Margaery feel better about everything, even just for a moment. Sansa really had flourished in many ways, regardless of her suffering.

But when she left for the door, the burning question was back, because she realized she didn't want to lay here and wonder, tormenting herself with the possibilities. She knew it was foolish, to rush this, why couldn't she just enjoy this damn moment with Sansa? Why did she need to put a title on everything, was it for her own, twisted validation?

"Sansa?"

With her hand on the knob, she turned, her eyes questioning Margaery, though patient.

Margaery bit her lip, feeling very vulnerable, all of a sudden. After all, she was about to potentially cause her own heartbreak, "I'm so _relieved_ , Sansa, that you never forgot about me. Because I never forgot about you…but…tell me…"

And Sansa's eyes were so soft and full of concern, Margaery almost hated herself to even bring it up.

But she did.

"Have you forgotten…about us?"

And much to expected, but still disappointing dismay, Sansa visibly stiffened where she stood, looking almost like a bristled animal wary of a passing stranger, on edge. And for a moment nothing was said, and Margaery desperately wished she could steal the words out of the air the moment they left her lips.

"No," Sansa finally said, her eyes remaining fixed on the door, her voice barely a whisper, "no, I haven't forgotten us…but I'm afraid I've forgotten what it feels like…"

And Margaery didn't miss the break in her voice, as Sansa's tears ran anew, and she cursed herself the moment the door shut in its frame. Her strong, but shattered wolf Queen, she wondered exactly what the world had done to her to hurt her so. She wondered if she would ever be able to bring Sansa back from whatever Hell it was she was living in, and what it would take for her to do so.

She wouldn't give up on her, this she knew.

She released a sob she hadn't realized had been sitting in her chest, her sickness hitting her like a hammer, now that she was left alone to herself. She shivered under the furs as another wave of exhaustion washed over her, and she let her tears run fresh.

Of relief, of happiness, longing, and pain.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I'm happy/sad to say, I have finished writing this story. As my gift to you for all your kind words, I'll be posting the last few chapters everyday :). Enjoy!

_**Sansa** _

The door closed with a soft thud.

And for a moment she could only stand there; she knew where she had to go, what she had to do, but her legs didn't want to cooperate. Perhaps it was Margaery's words echoing inside her head, or the fact that she was just on the other side of this door, and Sansa didn't want to put that distance between them.

Her hand came to her mouth to stifle a sob as she bolted across the hall into her own chambers. With the door safely shut behind her she let herself sink against the cold wood, squeezing her eyes shut as though it would stop the tears, but they kept reappearing.

It was all _so much_.

Margaery had risen from the dead state she had remained in Sansa's heart, and with it brought the sweetest air, a warmth in the colds of Winterfell, and Sansa couldn't help but be overwhelmed with the utter relief of it all, how wonderful and how-

-how frightening.

Because Sansa did remember them, oh how she remembered how the gardens looked when Margaery had pressed herself to her behind the privacy of the flora, or how Margaery kissed her wound so gently, it was almost as though it was healing.

She remembered, the night they shared together before the wedding. But what she couldn't recall was the explosive climax that ended the night. She could not relive the feeling of pure, unbridled bliss and primal pleasure, not after sex became a terribly painful and frightening occurrence for her.

Now, she couldn't imagine how such a thing could feel good ever again. She knew that it was a ridiculous notion, that surely, being with Margaery would be just like the last time, but the fear still gripped her chest that it might hurt, again.

And there was her own scars.

Margaery had shown hers; willingly and with more confidence than Sansa felt she had. Margaery's scars ran deep, most certainly a great deal more physically than even her own, and she wondered just how long it might take to heal from such a wound, and she couldn't help but picture Margaery writhing in pain for weeks on end, slipping on and off the edge of death, screaming for someone to save her.

Miserably, she knew even if she had stayed, she probably wouldn't have been able to save her, though it did nothing to assuage the guilt she carried.

Sansa could relate, screaming to be saved, screaming for her mother as Ramsay laughed, the hook at the end of the whip stripping her flesh as though it were nothing. It was the only time she gave him the satisfaction of hearing her cry out in pain, when he used the whip, for she could not help it, the agony proved to be too much.

The ghost of an ache was back between her legs as she remembered the countless times her violently took her, ruining every lovely image she ever had of her body, of her sexuality. He stripped it from her as he stripped her flesh, and with a broken heart she couldn't help but feel like Margaery wouldn't want a battered woman such as herself.

She squeezed her eyes shut and pushed herself from the floor; she may not remember how to be a lover, but she did know how to be a Queen.

With all of the resolve she could muster, she went to the mirror to give herself a once over. Her small council was made up of mostly Northern lords, who were unforgiving in the face of weakness. She was a Stark, and she had to act like one.

She exited the room, giving a final glance to the large, oak door that stood adjacent to her own, knowing what was on the other side. Involuntarily, her gloved hand ran the length of the wood, the action mimicking the longing she felt in her soul for who lay just inside, sick but safe.

She tore her eyes away, her hand recoiling as though she had been burned. _Later_ , she told herself. She would go down to feast with her council, and return as soon as she was able. But she could not let this affect her rule, no matter how important it was to her, the other lords would not see it that way. They had heard by now the news of the unexpected visitor, it was her duty to address them on that.

Before reaching the dining hall, she made a stop off at the kitchens. Margaery must be near starved at this point, and a pang of guilt nagged at her stomach when she realized she hadn't even asked when she had last ate. She approached the first servant she found, a young girl with a mop of black curls to her shoulders, currently placing a layer of bread rolls into the large oven.

"Your Grace!" she exclaimed as she dipped into a low curtsey, "is there something you need?"

"Yes, please," Sansa said, her face growing into a warm smile, "I should like a meal sent to the guest chambers across from my own; meat, bread, the finest you have. Large portions, as our guest has been on the road for some time. Water as well as wine, thank you."

The girl curtsied again, beaming a smile of her own, "I'll see your guest has only the best, Your Grace, at once."

Sansa smiled again in her departure. She figured Margaery will have most likely fallen asleep by the time the food reached her, but just in case. She hoped the woman would feel better soon, now that she had a warm bed and meal, knowing she could sleep with the knowledge that she was safe. Sansa would gladly give it to her, anything she needed, for the rest of her life, all she wanted was to see her rose smile again.

And Sansa had a feeling that she too, would be smiling again, now that Margaery was back. _Alive._

It was surreal, like she was caught in some wonderful dream.

She entered the hall, slightly late as dinner was already served, but she didn't care the slightest. Nothing could bring her down from the high she was feeling, certainly not something as menial as cold pork. The lords of her council, including Brienne and her youngest brother Rickon, stood from their chair as she approached to bow respectfully.

"Thank you, my lords," she said as she sat head of the table, "forgive me for my lateness. As I'm sure you you're all aware, we have had an unexpected visitor to the castle."

"Who might this visitor be, Your Grace?" Ser Davos questioned her politely, her faithful Master of Ships. He served Winterfell when it came time to fight the undead, and Sansa was proud to have him on her small council.

She sighed, "Lady Margaery Tyrell, the last surviving heir to Highgarden." Her heart bloomed at the mere fact that she could say her name aloud again, that she could say that she was alive to be heir of anything at all.

The table went silent, though judging from their expressions non seemed displeased, more curious than anything.

Her Grand Maester, Samwell Tarly, was the next to speak. A jovial man, round in stature but bursting with kindness. He too aided Winterfell and their wounded after the war, and by far the most intelligent of the maesters. She trusted all her men's capabilities, but she wondered it perhaps she should have Samwell take a look at Margaery, just to be sure, "Well this is wonderful news! To have survived such a disaster… _wow_ …But what is her business in the North? Highgarden is quite a way off."

Sansa regarded the lords with an even look when she said her next words, "she has expressed no desire to return to Highgarden. Instead, she will remain in Winterfell under my personal protection."

Once again, the table fell silent, though this time the tension was palpable. She understood, the North was wary of outsiders, especially those of the South, _especially_ those who were affiliated with the Lannisters.

"Your Grace, while I do not question your judgement, I cannot see why a Tyrell would seek protection here of all places. What motives does she have?"

Sansa knew Margaery's motives, though it wasn't something she could very well say out loud. Margaery came to the North for her, not just because she was all Margaery had, when the woman had obviously made some sort of life for herself these fast couple of years. Margaery could have easily remained where she was, or at least tried to reach Kings Landing to express her desire for Highgarden returned to her family. Instead, she came North for Sansa. Because it was where she wanted to be.

"She and I were very dear friends when I was held prisoner in Kings Landing," Sansa said slowly, "and she, in many ways, saved my life there. I will be more than happy to provide her the same. She has no where else to go, and nothing at her former home waiting for her. She will do well, here in Winterfell, and it would be my honor to have her reside here. Above all, I trust her with my life."

That seemed to satisfy the rest of the table, who nodded to one another and went back to their feast, each giving their approval and expressing interest in meeting Margaery in the days to come. She felt movement to her right, and saw her youngest brother leaning in close to her, his shaggy reddish hair dangling in his eyes, "you should think about having her on your small council," he said quietly, "she could be a good addition, with her knowledge of the South."

Sansa could hug the young man; he too, was held captive by Ramsay, and she and her brother shared a newfound bond that they never got to establish, as he was just a boy when Sansa left for the South. He had grown into a fine young man, just as Robb did. Gods forbid, if something happened to her, she at least knew that a Stark would remain in Winterfell, as it should be. He was wise beyond his young years, but she realized he wasn't so young anymore.

She smiled at him, "that's a wonderful idea, Rickon. It will give her some semblance of purpose, I'm sure. I'll have it ran by the council."

He smiled back at her before adding, "it's good to see you smile again, dear sister."

And now her grin was threatening to split her face, and she waved her hand in slight embarrassment, "Gods, it _feels_ good."

* * *

She found herself before the oak door once again. Rather quickly, she noted, after nearly inhaling her food at dinner and leaving a hasty goodbye to the rest of her table. They understood her reasoning, to tend to the lady of Highgarden, they didn't need to know the extent Sansa's eagerness went to.

But outside the door, the nerves were creeping back. She felt absurd, being nervous around Margaery, and she felt almost as she did when they were first becoming close, back in Kings Landing. She supposed it wasn't such a bad thing, while those days spent in the South were not fond memories, Margaery sure was.

She raised a trembling hand to the door-cursing herself because she was _Queen_ , damnit-and gave it a light knock, not wanting to disturb the woman from her possible slumber. When she received no response, she couldn't help but feel slightly unsettled, but of course Margaery was fine on the other side. It's not like something or someone came to steal her in the night, or the fire had run amok and burned the room to ash.

Still, there was her sickness, which was ample reason enough for Sansa to go in. Just to make sure.

She pushed her weight on the door slowly, peering her head inside the warm, dimly lit room. She saw a lump under the furs of the bed, it was clear Margaery was under them, sleeping soundly, but her feet brought her forward anyway.

She grabbed the stool, silently, the same small wooden one she had perched on to wash Margaery's hair. She brought it to the edge of the bed, her eyes never leaving Margaery's sleeping face. She could now get a better look at the woman, and truly appreciate the beauty that was her, that she was _here_.

To her delight, the food she had sent up had been consumed in its entirety, and she could put to rest the worry of Margaery's hunger. Her eyes went back to her chestnut locks, still as long and flowing as they always were, now that they had been washed of the mud and grime that caked them earlier. Her color was returning as well, and though she looked a little damp with sweat, her fever didn't appear too bad, when Sansa pressed a hand gingerly to her head.

Slightly gaunt, but Sansa would fix that.

Her fingers ran absentmindedly along the length of the fur that blanketed her; she must be getting quite warm, if the slight shine on her forehead was any indication. Perhaps it would be best to remove some of the furs for now.

Perhaps, Sansa just wanted to see more of her.

She knew it probably wasn't right, but she couldn't help her curiosity. She saw them, earlier, but she hadn't actually _looked,_ not properly. She didn't want to run the risk of embarrassing Margaery, but now she was sleeping, maybe she wouldn't know. Sansa just wanted to see, wanted to understand.

_This is wrong._

Still, she pulled the furs back.

The air was stolen from her lungs once again, as it was before, when she saw the resulting mutilation from Cersei's attack. This time she held the sob that threatened to tear from her throat, biting her cheek until it nearly bled.

She could see where every bit of flesh had pulled itself back to her form as it healed, misshapen and uneven in most spots. The skin was no longer the light tan she remembered, but instead a mix of pink and red hues, some more purple in the rivulets that ran deeper than others. It looked _painful_ , even now, and Sansa couldn't imagine the horror Margaery must have felt, when someone must have picked her up, whenever she had to be handled, or use the bathroom, or any other mundane task. How she must have screamed as flesh melted from muscle.

Without thinking, she ran a gentle finger along one of the deep ridges of her thigh, a particularly prominent strip of scar tissue. She wished she could have done more for her, wished she could have been there while she healed.

"Does it frighten you?"

Sansa's face burned as she retracted her hand, embarrassed for being caught. She said nothing, for in truth, it did.

"It's all right," Margaery's soothing voice said then, her hand reaching for Sansa's. She let her take it, relishing in the warmth it brought her, "I used to be frightened of them, too. I still am, if I stare at them long enough and allow myself to get lost in the reason of how they came to be. But it gets easier, and they do not hurt me any longer."

Sansa said nothing still, her eyes focused in their intertwined hands. Margaery raised them then, bringing Sansa's hand back to her thigh, back to the scarred flesh, encouraging her to continue the ministrations she had been giving until Margaery had woken up. She swallowed a lump of emotion when her hand met bumpy flesh once again, but resumed in running her fingers along the old wound regardless. Margaery said it got easier for her, Sansa hoped it would become easier for her to see them, too. To see them without the burning guilt, or the homicidal anger she felt towards an already dead Cersei.

"It feels good," Margaery sighed, quietly, "it's like, something nice on something that once caused so much pain. It takes away it's power."

Sansa eyes fluttered shut as she allowed her hand to caress Margaery's blemished, but decidedly still beautiful thigh. She tried to let the motion take the power away for her as well. This was still Margaery, and she was telling her that she was all right, Sansa just had to allow herself to believe her.

"I have them too," Sansa blurted out quietly. Margaery just watched her with deep brown eyes, her expression patient and kind. _Loving_.

"No less beautiful you are, I'm sure," she said quietly, propping herself on her elbow. Her hair cascaded down onto the bed, the neckline of her shirt hanging dangerously low, and Sansa couldn't help but let her eyes roam over the expanse of skin that was her neck and collarbone, how alluring it was that she once kissed that very region.

She said nothing again, unsure of how to respond. Margaery, the saint she was, did not press her to elaborate, and for that Sansa was grateful.

"I didn't know," Margaery said softly, after some silence had passed between them. Sansa looked at her curiously, before she continued, "I didn't know about my grandmother's plan to take you from Kings Landing. When I found out, I was angry. I was angry because Baelish never brought you back, and we didn't know where you were," Margaery looked away then, looking terribly guilty, but Sansa didn't want her to feel that way. She hadn't realized she had been holding her breath, not wanting to miss a second of Margaery's account of the story, for this was the side she didn't know.

"He was supposed to take you to Highgarden, and we would have married you to Loras," Margaery pressed on, clearly battling with her own emotions. This piece of knowledge made Sansa even happier to have killed the man. But all the same, she would have never gotten her home back, had he not betrayed them.

"After that I didn't know where you were. I didn't know if something bad happened to you…" Margaery's eyes welled up with tears then, and she blinked them away in frustration, "then I come to find, something bad _did_ happen to you Sansa. And I can't help but feel as though…if my grandmother never took you away, maybe…"

Sansa gripped her leg, not roughly, but enough to make Margaery meet her gaze, "no, Margaery," she breathed, wanting her so badly to understand, "everything that's happened to me, every chain of event, has led me to reclaiming my home. Has led to me being crowned _Queen_. I cannot regret anything. Besides, you must understand, that all of this almost didn't matter at all. If I had never made it back North, Ramsay would have remained in Winterfell. When the white walkers attacked, he wouldn't have stopped them, and they would have raised Westeros to the ground. We couldn't have stopped them, had I never escaped Kings Landing. I have your grandmother to thank for that."

Margaery looked as though she doubted herself for a moment, until a smile graced her features and Sansa felt her heart lighten, "Queen Sansa. I'm so proud of you, sweet girl, how far you've come…"

She was looking at Sansa with complete adoration, and Sansa couldn't help but shiver under her gaze.

Margaery told her about everything that followed; how the Sparrows had taken control of the crown, of the time spent locked below the Sept. Margaery cried, and Sansa cried with her, when she recalled the last day in the Sept, of how the Sparrows mutilated her brother. How she begged for the High Sparrow to hear her fears, but none would listen. Her separation from Loras, and how she escaped through the doors without him and the guilt that came along with it. Then she recounted the explosion. She hadn't remembered much of it initially, the blast had knocked her out cold. She awoke in agony to someone removing debris from her burned body, and spent the next few weeks in and out of consciousness. In short, she should have died, even with the woman's care she was under.

It was nothing short of a miracle, that she survived at all.

And then she had spent the past year or so living in Braavos, far from Cersei and her eyes. Yet the further Margaery went into the story, the more pain seemed to overcome her.

"I feel _horrible_ , just horrible, for not sending you a raven. Or my grandmother. To allow everyone to believe I was dead for so long but I was scared Sansa. I was so scared…"

Sansa took Margaery's hand and brought it to her lips. She did it without even thinking, but didn't miss the way Margaery's eyes widened slightly when she did so. She still smelled of roses, Sansa realized, even all the way up here. It took everything in her not to linger further.

"I don't want you to carry any guilt for that, Margaery. While your death brought me so much pain, I could have never forgiven myself if Cersei somehow found you when you tried to get to me. You were smart, and I would have done the same. I didn't reach out for anyone, either, during my time here…with him…"

Margaery began to rub soothing circles into Sansa's palm, the act calming her anxiety almost immediately. She looked to the woman who so openly shared her painful experience, but knew that Margaery was not going to expect the same, and that was okay. But Sansa couldn't help but feel guilty about leaving her in the dark, surely Margaery would want to know what had happened to Sansa over the years, and she wondered if she felt slighted at all by her silence.

Her worries were diminished, when it was as though Margaery read her mind.

"We don't have to talk about it, Sansa," she said softly, "I'm not going anywhere. Anytime you wish to tell me, I'll be here, even if that time never comes."

Sansa couldn't hold back the tears at Margaery's sweet, undeserving words. "Th-thank you," she choked out, "I'm sorry…"

Margaery pushed herself from the bed with some difficulty, but before Sansa could protest she was wrapped into her tight embrace, her figure warm against Sansa's, "I think we've apologized enough, sweet girl. I'm just happy to be home, with you."

 _Home_. Was Margaery insinuating that it was Sansa, that was her home? Sansa certainly felt that way with Margaery, she realized. Home didn't feel like it did without her loved ones, when she had taken it back with Jon. It felt empty, lacking all the happy memories that once lived there. But with Margaery's arrival, perhaps it did feel like a home, again.

"Stay with me tonight?" Margaery asked quietly, her voice tickling her ear. In truth, Sansa was hoping she would ask. She wasn't sure how she would fair across that hall, knowing Margaery was mere feet away. She had just gotten her back, after all, and she wasn't ready to leave her side again. Not unless Margaery had wanted her to.

Her eyes squeezed shut, as she inhaled the floral scent that she adored so much, letting it wash over her senses, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

She felt Margaery's smile as the older girl nuzzled into Sansa's neck, her breath ghosting over her skin and Sansa was lit with a rush that she thought was long forgotten. She couldn't deny her nervousness, but this was _Margaery_. They were just going to enjoy each other, and she wanted so desperately to hold her again.

She parted from the embrace with mentions of small clothes in her chambers, and went back into the chilled hall. Upon entering her own room, the nerves suddenly struck her again when she had went to remove the fur from her shoulders.

Would Margaery be able to see her scars?

Hesitantly, she removed the fur and the gloves from her hands before unclasping the gambeson. Once naked, with the small clothes laid out before her, she couldn't help but slip a hand self consciously over her shoulder, running her fingers along the deep grooves she could feel where the spike had torn out her flesh in sizable chunks.

She pulled the slip over her head and felt with her fingers once again, this time through the thin fabric. The indents, while less prominent, were unmistakably there. Margaery was sure to feel them just as soon as she touched her back there, if she did.

But she knew Margaery, she told herself. The woman would not say a word of what she found back there, would never push Sansa or regard them in any way. She would cherish them, as she did her, for this is what she needed to tell herself to calm her mounting nerves.

Besides, Margaery had shown hers. Sansa even touched them, without Margaery's permission-she still tried to get over the recent guilt and humiliation of that- and still, the older woman did not mind. Encouraged it even, encouraged it to be normal. 

She sighed as she removed her hair from its braids, letting her Tully red hair flow freely. She regarded herself a moment longer before making the short trip back across the hall, stealing herself before carefully opening the door.

Margaery audibly gasped when she saw Sansa, and the Queen couldn't help but be overcome with a blush under the undeniably erotic gaze.

"Sansa," Margaery breathed, "by the Gods, you are the most beautiful woman in Westeros."

Sansa gave her a shy smile, though inside she was swooning at the Tyrell's words. Sansa knew by all means that she was far from the ugliest woman, none made her feel quite so attractive as Margaery did.

"Stop it," Sansa said mirthfully, "that might have been true until you came back to us."

Margaery hummed with content, until her expression changed into something of pain as her body was taken with violent coughs, and Sansa rushed forward to sit her up.

Gods, she had been so wrapped up in Margaery's story she had almost forgotten she was sick.

"Are you all right?" Sansa said worriedly, as she rubbed soothing circles on the woman's back, "should I fetch the maester?"

Margaery waved her off, "no, no Sansa, I'm feeling much better than earlier. I just need more rest, I'm sure."

Sansa, ever the worrier, pressed the back of her hand to Margaery's forehead. Slightly warm, clammy, but much cooler than it had been, and her coughing was certainly less frequent since drinking the tea.

"You do look better," she mumbled, brushing the strand of hair that had fallen to the older girls forehead, "let's get you some sleep, then."

Margaery moved over, pulling back the furs to allow Sansa entry. Her pace quickened when Margaery turned around and pressed her backside into her, causing her stomach to knot pleasantly. Sansa wrapped her arm around her middle, pulling her impossibly closer, until Margaery filled her senses once again. Sansa had never felt so at peace as she did in this moment, a drastic change from most restless nights she spent since her death. She awoke to countless nightmares of Margaery slipping from her grasp, or burning alive. Of the white walkers and Ramsay Bolton. But now, there was just Margaery.

"Thank you," the older girl breathed, "for everything."

Sansa only buried herself further in Margaery's hair, for she was wrong to thank her. Sansa was certainly the lucky one, she decided, and she was doing Margaery no service. It was Margaery, who deserved the thanks.

"Thank _you_ ," Sansa insisted, "you have no idea how badly I needed this. How I needed you."

Margaery's hand rested over Sansa's, which was draped over her taught stomach, "I think I do, sweet wolf. I think I do."

* * *

She woke with a start, sweat apparent along her back as she jolted from the bed leaving her clothes to stick to her trembling form. Her head immediately snapped to the sleeping form next to her and she breathed a sigh of relief when she was able to take note that the figure was still breathing, still sleeping.

Apparently, even her presence wasn't enough to keep the nightmares at bay.

Though this time, she had dreamt she awoke in this very bed, though it was morning in her dream, not the dead of night like it was now. She had reached for Margaery, to greet her with the new day, to ask her if she was well enough to break her fast, but the form in bed beside her was not Margaery.

Instead, a stiff, charred corpse is what greeted her on the other side, its eyes devoid of the brown orbs she knew, the skeleton of a mouth twisted open in agony. All that adorned her was a twisted piece of metal for a crown.

Sansa had screamed, though thankfully not aloud.

She knew she would have to overcome this fear of losing the woman, but it had already happened once. She wouldn't survive a second time.

She wasn't sure how long she lay awake, propped up on an elbow, staring at her shoulder, watching it rise with each slow breath she took, just to make sure she would continue to do so. She stared for so long, she was surprised she didn't burn a hole right through her, and she hadn't even noticed when the older girl had begun to stir.

Brown eyes met blue in the moonlight flooding through the window in the otherwise dark room. And she said nothing. Instead, the chestnut haired woman reached a tentative hand to cup her cheek with the bare ghost of a touch. Margaery could sense Sansa's distress, she realized, she understood all of the words that Sansa didn't say.

Instead she just looked at her, her hand still resting on her cheek. She was there, she was real, and Sansa knew it that moment that she did still, in fact, know how to love.

Because she loved Margaery.

Without a word said between them, for it was established that words were not needed, Sansa leaned down to meet Margaery, and she knew when she kissed her that her life would change again, for what would be a countless time, but this time she was willing, and in control. Control that she so desperately needed.

Her heart may have stopped when her lips met Margaery's, or it may have thudded completely out of control, she wasn't sure which for she could only focus on the softness of Margaery's lips, how weak she felt against her hot mouth, and the ghost of a whimper that got lost in the air when doing so.

There was raw emotion in the way Margaery's fingers curled in her hair, her other hand coming to join the first. The warmth of her breath floating it's way into her mouth was destabilizing but altogether intoxicating, and her addiction to the woman came back full force, like a plant without water, like the world had gone without sun for far too long.

She pressed deeper into the kiss, her hand coming to rest on Margaery's waist, giving it a slight tug to pull her closer. Heat bloomed in scorching tendrils from her stomach to her chest, and she parted her lips to allow Margaery's sweet tongue to wash over her, the muscle lapping gently in the deepest corners of her mouth, her abdomen beginning to seize delightfully.

Sansa pulled back, just to look at her, just to make sure it was real, before meeting her halfway again, pressing deep kisses over and over like she couldn't get enough. Her body tingled as Margaery pressed her frame into her, and Sansa gladly pulled her in, claiming her mouth again, the action hungry and intense.

She felt Margaery's hands exploring, running down her shoulders before inevitably coming to grip her back. They wandered, running up and down the length of her, and Sansa couldn't help but tense for a moment. But just as she knew, Margaery said nothing, instead pulled Sansa to her as she took her lips again, as though the scars weren't even there.

Her kisses were black holes, pulling and dizzying, and Sansa was happy to get lost in her. She knew she would never have enough; Margaery was everywhere, her hands clinging onto her back and her legs wrapping around her own, and she's kissing her with a fervent urgency not felt before, not when they were younger.

The sinking yielding she felt for the woman was a welcome one, the warm tide washing away the cold years of loneliness and mourning.

Margaery pulled back, breathlessly, still hanging onto Sansa, looking at her as though she had never seen her before. Her hands came to rest on Sansa's cheeks again, who was equally breathless, her gaze locked on Margaery's. The older girls eyes began to mist over, and she looked at Sansa like she were a goddess come to Earth.

"I love you," Margaery said softly, her hands insistent on Sansa's face, "I love you, Sansa Stark."

Sansa felt her own eyes grow wet, her heart bursting with jubilation at Margaery's soft confession. A confession that mirrored her own, for so long, one that she had always regretted that she had never spoke aloud, never told her when it mattered.

And then it didn't. But now, it mattered again, it mattered more to Sansa than anything in this world, and she would never squander another opportunity to tell her that.

"I love you, Margaery," she said tearfully, "I love you, I love you, and I always have. I should have told you before, and from now on I'll tell you always."

She surged forth before Margaery could say another word, taking her lips in a loving kiss, trying to pour all of her feelings into the action. Margaery Tyrell would not go a day on this Earth without knowing that Sansa Stark loved her.

Never again.


	20. Chapter 20

**_Margaery_ **

Margaery awoke with the sickness sat deep in her chest, the fluids inside settling overnight as she slept. When she woke, it was to painful, lurching coughs that had her sitting up in the bed, clutching her chest.

But Sansa was right there, cradling her in her strong arms, as Margaery noted the defined muscles that were now visible, unlike before. She was patting gently on her back, before the bed shifted beside her as Sansa rose from it. She heard a faint shuffling over her hacking coughs, before Sansa returned holding a chamber pot in front of her.

She spat up the vile sickness that was loosening in her throat, as Sansa held back her hair and ran her nails gently across the back of her neck. It elicited a shiver up the older girl, despite her situation with the chamber pot.

She gasped as the fit subsided, clutching onto Sansa's arm like a lifeline. So much for feeling better.

" _Gods_ ," Margaery shuddered, as she breathed deep for the first time, trying to catch her breath, "I hate for you to see me like this."

She felt Sansa's hands gently lowering her back down to the soft furs, her hand swiping the beads of sweat that had gathered on her forehead. Margaery hummed at the contact, her hand coming to meet Sansa's that was now resting in her hair. Sansa looked at her with adoration, and pressed her soft lips to Margaery's hairline.

"I love taking care of you," she whispered, her voice full of everything genuine, "I am happy you're here to allow me to do so."

Margaery couldn't help the smile that grew on her face. Sansa was so loving, and took such care with her, she couldn't believe she was actually nervous to see her wolf again. Her only regret was not getting to her sooner. Her weak arms raised to Sansa's jawline, where she caressed her nails down the features of her face, tracing every definition she could find. Sansa closed her eyes, breathing deep out of her nose.

"Kiss me, Sansa," she whispered, her voice laced with need, a need to feel what she felt last night. Part of her thought she had been dreaming, and she needed Sansa to show her she was wrong.

Sansa didn't waste anytime lowering her head to capture Margaery's lips. The action was slow, and gentle, lacking the same passion of last night but all of the love was still there. She kneaded gently against her, until they parted, breathing softly on one another's mouths.

"I love you," Sansa breathed softly, her whisper tickling Margaery's lips delightfully.

"And I love you, dear wolf," she would never tire of telling her. Margaery had carried the regret for the last four years of her life, that Sansa had never known how she truly felt. But like an answered prayer, Sansa knew now. And she always would.

Sansa straightened then, pushing herself from the bed. Margaery internally groaned at the loss, but Sansa was Queen now after all, and Margaery knew too well of the never ending duties that came with the title. Sansa slipped on some light footwear to venture back to the hall, to her own chambers. Margaery wondered briefly if Sansa would stay with her the following evening.

"I'll be right back, I just need to prepare for the day. I will send for Grandmaester Tarly once I'm done, along with breakfast."

Margaery rolled over, watching Sansa as she headed for the door, "are you saying I'm to remain in bed _all_ day?" she cried with mock devastation.

Sansa smiled, and how beautiful it was to see Sansa smile with a true, genuine happiness, "yes you are to remain in bed. I can't very well take you for a tour of Winterfell if you're still sick. Besides, you are to meet my small council members once you're better, and you won't be better if you're carousing around in the snow."

Margaery shot her the most sultry smile she could manage, fluttering her eyelashes as she did so, "yes, my _Queen_."

Sansa just snorted at Margaery's ridiculous display as she disappeared through the door. Margaery couldn't help but sigh and flop back onto the furs, her heart full of warmth and love. She felt young again, innocent, without a care in the world other than her Sansa.

She looked forward to when she returned, as always.

* * *

It would be another three days before Margaery would be well enough for her life to resume normality. All the while Sansa was at her side every moment she could be, so much so that Margaery had to tell her to stop worrying about her.

It wasn't that Margaery didn't adore having Sansa around; in fact, if it was her choice, Sansa would remain with her throughout the entire day. But Sansa was Queen now, and Margaery wanted to make a good impression on her small council members. If they thought that Margaery was holding Sansa back from her duties, they could grow to resent her.

Then, there was the matter of their secret relationship, which surely might look strange if one caught on to just how much time they were spending together. How Sansa spent the _night_ with her, every night. But Sansa didn't seem bothered, nor did they discuss it at this point. But Margaery couldn't help but wonder what Sansa's plan was to move forward.

She tried not to let the matter worry her, for today they would meet the Tyrell, then Sansa was going to take her around Winterfell. The weather was holding up well for the day, the wind was low and the sun even came out in various increments.

She giggled as she felt Sansa's lips pepper up her shoulder, as they did nearly every morning. This was her favorite time of day, or perhaps night as well, when Sansa was in the furs with her. It felt like nothing else existed, only them, the only thing that mattered.

"You look much better today, Lady Margaery," Sansa murmured the teasing nickname into her neck, "perhaps it's time to let you out of your tower."

"I should hope so!" Margaery exclaimed as she flipped over until she was on top of Sansa, eliciting a very un-queenlike squeal from the younger woman. She peppered her face in kisses, before taking her lip playfully in her teeth, "while I adore the accommodations provided, I must admit I am getting a little stir crazy."

Piercing blue eyes met her own, gazing at her longingly. Sansa looked so beautiful with her hair fanned on the bed, and it took a great deal of control on Margaery's part not to ravage her right there. She and Sansa had been taking things slow, for the younger woman's sake, and Margaery had no plans to rush her. Still, she could not deny the difficulty that came with it.

"I have something for you," Sansa said softly, and Margaery shifted her weight off of her to allow Sansa to exit the bed.

"Oh, I do love surprises, what is it?" Margaery asked as her excitement began to build. Sansa just gave her a coy smile and slipped out of the door, presumably to her own chambers.

She returned not a moment later, carrying a bundle of clothes hung over her arm, a large grey fur sitting prominently on top of the pile. She eyed Sansa as she went to one of the chairs, draping the fur over the back of it and held up the remainder in her arms.

Margaery felt her jaw drop; it was a gambeson, just like Sansa's, though this one a dark forest green, the leather fine and new. Throughout the green, accents of a brilliant gold ran down the seams, shimmering slightly as it moved in the light.

Tyrell colors.

She was speechless at first, though she saw Sansa's expectant smile, waiting for her reaction.

"Sansa," she finally managed to gasp, "is this for me?"

"Of course it's for you. If you're going to remain in the North, you'll have to be dressed for it."

She nearly leapt from the bed, meeting Sansa in the center of the room to inspect the fine clothes. She cradled the fine leather in her hands, tracing her fingers down the intricate gold woven throughout as her vision began to blur.

"I had it made with your House colors…I hope that's alright. Though this is your home, it's nice to be reminded of where you came from," Sansa said nervously into the silence, "do you like it?"

She threw her arms around Sansa's neck, taking the older woman off guard for a moment, but she quickly returned the embrace.

"I love it," Margaery whispered tearfully into Sansa's neck, "oh Sansa I love it. I love _you_!"

She felt Sansa smile into her hair, "I'm so glad, my beautiful rose," they parted from the embrace, Sansa handing the gambeson to Margaery's trembling hands, "I'll send a handmaiden to fill your tub and help you dress. Then you and I can head down to the dining hall, if you like. We will be meeting officially with the small council after we break our fast, but you will meet them at the table too."

Margaery smiled at her in affirmation, "I look forward to it."

She expected Sansa to leave then, to go ready herself. Sansa was still not comfortable with her body being seen at this point, and that was all right with Margaery. But still, she continued to stand there, as though she had something else on her mind, so she waited.

"Margaery," Sansa started, looking unsure of herself. Strange, because Sansa seemed so sure of herself as of late, unless they touched on certain topics. Margaery draped the clothes along with the furs on the chair, forgotten, as she went to her wolf. She took her hands, massaging them with her thumbs as she pressed a chaste kiss to the younger woman's jaw.

"What is it?"

Sansa bit her lip, "would you consider a position in my small council?"

That hadn't been what Margaery was expecting, and she felt silly that Sansa would seem so worked up over that. Still, she was flattered that Sansa would offer such a thing, even in her complete lack of knowledge of the North and it's ways. She wasn't sure if Sansa was offering because she felt obligated, or if she truly thought it was a good idea.

"It would be my honor, if you desire it. Though…the other lords, will this go over well amongst them?"

"I've already addressed it," Sansa said matter-of-factly, "and they are on board. You have a useful knowledge of the South, I am not foolish enough to pretend that only the North exists now. My brother Bran rules the Six Kingdoms, as Queen I should know of them as well. I couldn't think of anyone better to have one my council, in that regard."

Margaery beamed at Sansa's praise, and she was overjoyed at the fact that she could feel as though she were contributing to the wellness of Winterfell, and not just accepting handouts from the good Queen, "then I wholeheartedly accept."

Sansa nuzzled her nose to Margaery's then, breathing out a sigh. It was hard to distinguish the tone of it, and while Sansa still wasn't leaving, it wasn't as though it were strange. These past few mornings usually left them on the cusp of being late, it was normal to get lost in one another a few times before Sansa could actually get out the door to start her day. But this seemed like something more, and sure enough, Sansa spoke again.

"I'm going to tell them," she said softly, the air from her lips tickling Margaery's own, and for a moment she was lost in the sensation, and the words didn't register at all.

Until they did.

She couldn't help the way her brows knitted together, as she pulled back to gauge Sansa's expression, to make sure her mind wasn't playing tricks on her, to confirm she actually said what she thought she heard.

"You're…going to tell them?" she questioned, unable to keep the alarm from her voice. Admittedly, it had crossed Margaery's mind, while she had countless hours to think while she lay up in this bed. She was afraid to ask the painful question, because she already expected it. She figured Sansa would have been expected to marry a lord of the North, to produce an heir, was that not what was required of a Queen?

She desperately wanted to pretend it wasn't so, but she knew what duty entailed.

Until Sansa said _this._

The wolf Queen nodded, "I am. I will not hide you, Margaery. I will not hide who I am."

Margaery was terribly confused, and _afraid_. That is what women in their positions were supposed to do, hide who they were, for it could mean their, and many a lady before them, heads.

"Sansa…" she said, her voice trembling slightly, and she could see the concern in Sansa's eyes, but she felt she was concerned for the wrong reasons, "are you not expected to marry? To provide an heir?"

Something steeled in Sansa's eyes, and she stiffened quite noticeably as her jaw set in a tight grimace. Margaery immediately regretted the words she said, unsure of where the fault in them lie.

"My council has already been informed that I will not marry. And I will not provide an heir. _Ever_."

While Margaery couldn't imagine how such a thing could be made possible, the look in Sansa's eyes had her afraid to ask. Thankfully, Sansa softened slightly, probably noticing the hesitation in Margaery, the confusion.

She sighed, "after…after what happened to me, it is understood that I will not be conforming to what would normally be expected of someone in my position. Instead, it has been arranged for my brother Rickon to remain Lord of Winterfell, and he shall marry a Northern house and provide an heir. He has given me his full support. This way, the crown gets it's heir, a Stark will always remain in Winterfell, and I will keep my sanity."

Margaery couldn't believe what she was hearing, but she was obviously relieved that this would never be pushed on Sansa. Selfishly, relieved that none would touch what was hers, none would lay their heads next to the Wolf Queen at night, aside from her.

"Well…well that's wonderful," Margaery breathed, running her hands down the length of Sansa's arms, trying to coax her from her tension, "but you can't honestly believe that they will still be all right with two _women_ , Sansa? I'll admit, I know not of the North's customs in that regard, but I can't imagine anywhere being all right with their Queen doing such things. Not even in Highgarden were they that open. Sansa, I would hate for this to ruin you, I would never forgive m-"

Sansa effectively cut her off with a searing kiss, the kind that send Margaery reeling, the kind that could make one forget about Northern laws and moral opposition. Sansa gripped the back of her head, cementing her in place, it was taking and demanding, as though she were claiming her. Arousal spiked strongly in her loins, and she helplessly gripped at the small clothes that Sansa still wore, unable to trust her own hands. And then Sansa pulled back, her eyes set in steely determination, and it only furthered Margaery's wanting.

"If my people love me as they say they do, they will take me as I am. If they cannot live with my happiness, then they will leave."

The finality in her voice was enough to end the conversation. Margaery was still terrified of what they would face at that small council meeting, but the fact remained that Sansa was Queen. If it was her desire to expose what she was, what they were, it was not her place to stop her.

No matter how heavy the guilt may weigh.

Sansa kissed her neck with fervor, pulling her from her thoughts. The ministrations slowed as Margaery relaxed in her embrace, as much as her anxiety would allow, anyway.

Sansa nibbled her earlobe before whispering, "don't think on it. I will take care of every thing, trust me."

And so Margaery would. After all, she could still recall a time where she begged Sansa to do the same.

* * *

The dining hall had been a dizzying affair.

True to Sansa's word, she met the members of the small council there at the table, all of them seated already as Sansa had put aside a few more minutes of assaulting Margaery with hungered kisses upon seeing her in the Tyrell gambeson. She had to admit, it did hug her curves beautifully, and was much warmer than her previous remnants of a southern gown.

They had been greeted with an uproarious cheer, the Northerners clearly more fond of informality than in Kings Landing. She found herself smiling with them, before stopping to say hello to Brienne first. She couldn't be sure, but she swore the woman had given her and Sansa a knowing smile, and she wondered briefly if she knew of them already.

She then met each one of them, all giving her warm enough regards, though Margaery couldn't help but think that soon after they eat they will all be looking at her much differently. It had her feeling tense throughout the entire exchange.

None asked of her story of how she arrived, and she was unsure if that was Sansa's doing or if they had the intuition that it was a sensitive topic. They did express their condolences for Margaery's passed family, as well as their thankfulness for her survival.

She just had to hope they would feel the same, when they found out she was snogging their Queen.

There was the Grand Maester, Samwell Tarly, whom she already had a liking for. He was a friendly man, with young a mirthful eyes, and had seemed quite delighted to meet her a few days ago when he had came to check on her sickness.

Ser Davos Seaworth, Master of Ships. He too was a kind man, with gentle eyes overtop a large white beard. Seated to his left was Bronze Yohn Royce as the Master of Laws, a large man who was probably the elder there, and Margaery sized him up to he the biggest problem with what they were about to reveal. Of course, she already knew Brienne, who was now Commander of her Queensguard. Rickon was there too, but Margaery did note that she did not have a Master of Coin nor Whisperers.

"It's a little different, here in the North," Sansa began, "while everyone has their title, it is everyone's duty to be vigilant, thus I do not see the need of a Master of Whispers. As for coin, Bronze Yohn Royce already takes that duty as his own. I'd rather keep my council small, and I have no desire for a Hand either. I can manage fine on my own."

She said her words with a confidence that Margaery was seeing more often, and she was strangely excited to see Sansa in the art of ruling, to see how she takes control. Even her presence was commanding now, she felt it the moment she entered the same room as the woman. How Sansa had grown from the meek girl she once was. Wonderfully different, and pleasantly the same.

"I don't doubt you do, Your Grace," Margaery said, knowing her place when in front of others, "though it begs the question, what will be my given title?"

She watched as the corners of Sansa's mouth twitched, and to her delight she began to nearly burst into laughter, having to duck her head and clutch a napkin to her mouth.

Margaery couldn't help but smile with her, "what are you laughing at?" she whispered.

Sansa contained herself for a moment, glancing around before whispering, "Mistress of the South?"

" _Mistress of the South?"_ Margaery gasped in mock disbelief, "I should hope not, that names better suited for a brothel maid."

They could barely contain their giggles, thankfully succeeding enough to not draw any attention as they composed themselves. For a brief moment, she forgot how terrified she was, and it reminded her of what truly mattered. That no matter how the people around her may react, that Sansa was strong enough to hold them both above it. As long as she had her, everything else was just background noise.

Everyone has finished eating, and the plates and tableware had been cleared away as the hall empty leaving naught but them.

And the fear was back, tenfold, like an iron grip on her throat.

She could only place her hands tensely in her lap, her eyes fixed ahead. But when she heard Sansa speak, she sounded as though she hadn't a care in the world of what was about to transpire. Margaery was astounded and utterly proud at Sansa's ability to maintain composure. So much so, she wondered if Sansa had a really good mask, or if she was truly unfazed.

"My Lords, my lady," Sansa started, her voice carrying smoothly in the now vacant hall, "I hope you are all as happy as I am that Lady Margaery has spoken for the North. I assure you she will be an important asset to the Crown. She is very dear to me, and it fills me with joy that you have all accepted her as well."

There was a mumble of approval and, what she was sure, many looks sent Margaery's way, but she could only glance around nervously, her bowels turning into jelly.

Sansa sighed, "you have all become more like family to me, after what we all went through. What we _suffered_ , together, United against the Night King and his army. The devastating loss we endured in the aftermath, and the rebuild of my home, our home. None of us would be here today, if it wasn't for that."

More nods of approval went through the small group, and Margaery tried to desperately rub the sweat from her palms onto the now slippery leather.

"I trust you all with my life, and everything that comes with it," Sansa said softer now, and that's when she felt Sansa take her hand, and she desperately wished she hadn't, for it only spiked the fear in her chest further. She was sure Sansa could feel the sweat of her nerves, but she only tightened her grip assuredly. Margaery could only sit and feel sick, her eyes on the slowly swaying wall in front of her, though she could feel the confused gazes burning holes through her.

"I love this woman," Sansa stated simply, and just like that it was out, never to be taken back again. The silence that followed was excruciating, but expected.

"I love her now," her hand gave another squeeze, "and I loved her long before Ramsay Bolton ruined me." There was a cough, coming from one of the more elder men she was sure, but she didn't dare look. There went the excuse that _maybe_ Sansa was only doing this as a result of her trauma at the hands of a male, admitting that she's felt this way for years, since adolescence.

"I will continue to love her, regardless of personal opinion. So I tell you this; if any oppose my decision, or feel uncomfortable in any way, you are free to leave the gates of Winterfell."

The silence stretched on, as though all were afraid to speak, but Margaery heard their voices regardless.

_Sinners._

_Degenerates._

_Abnormal._

_Unwelcome_.

The scraping of wood on stone filled her ears and she thought that was it. That a member was already getting up to leave, without even saying a word. Her soul crumpled pitifully.

"Your Grace," Brienne's voice cut through the silence, and Margaery raised her head to where she sat, to the other side of Sansa, "If I may speak freely?"

Sansa nodded, "you may, Lady Brienne."

Brienne relaxed slightly, looking at both of them with relieving warmth, and Margaery reveled in the smile that she wore, "Your Grace, I've been serving at your side for a long time. I've been there, though most heartbreak you have endured. With Margaery's arrival, I see something in you that I thought was long gone. And I'm sure that's something everyone here can agree on." She paused, waiting for anyone to dare oppose that statement, and none did, "you both deserve this. And you will have my full, undying support."

Sansa dabbed at her eyes at her friends admission of approval, managing a regal, "thank you, Lady Brienne."

Samwell Tarly, seemingly spurred on by Brienne's speech, stood next to say his bit, " Your Grace, I think you and I have seen enough ugliness in this world for a lifetime. We could use more love. You have my support as well."

"You will always have my support, Your Grace, dear sister," Rickon said happily, nodding to the both of them.

Margaery was stuck in a sea of disbelief, how many of them had stood so quickly and so eagerly pledged their support. How times must really have changed while she was hiding in Braavos, she felt as though this must be a dream, like everything had been flipped upside down.

Ser Davos cleared his throat, his mustache twitching, "Your Grace, I believe there are far more pressing matters of concern than who you take as your suitor. I believe in your abilities as Queen, thus trust that this is the right decision."

Sansa nearly burst into tearful laughter, though kept her regality as much as she was able, "thank you, all of you."

The only one left that had not said a word was Bronze Yohn Royce, seated at the end, looking as though he were sucking his teeth deep in thought. Margaery figured he might take issue with this, but she also found she could not lay blame. She too, would have been appalled, had she witnessed something like this in Kings Landing.

Sansa sighed, and it pained Margaery's ears, the burden the noise carried, "I needn't go into detail of my suffering. Nor will I…but you _must_ understand, I deserve this, Gods be damned. I _deserve_ this happiness, after the agonizing years I endured. Even still, I came out of everything and I fought for Winterfell. I fought for my people. I will _always_ , fight for my people. Rest assured, if Rickon had not survived…I would do my duty, to marry and produce an heir, for the good of my people, no matter how much pain it may bring me. But I do not have to do that, so I implore you, look to my qualities as Queen, not to the business of who I choose to share a bed with."

The room went quiet again, and Margaery hadn't realized she had been moved to tears by Sansa's speech, and most others looked moved as well. Even Bronze Yohn Royce seemed to have conceded, as he let out a long sigh of submission, his eyes looking almost shamed.

"Your Grace, you are right in everything you say, of course," he started, though his tone suggested he was not finished, "it is not my, nor any of our place to say that you cannot love this woman. With that being said, Your Grace, and I only say it with the utmost respect, that outside the opinion of ours, many of the people will not feel the same."

Sansa said nothing, for she probably already knew this, though she wanted to hear him say it regardless.

"That is to say," he continued slowly, "marriage will be out of the question. The people may talk, they may even know the suspected rumors to be true, but they will overlook it for their love for you as Queen, as a Stark. But marriage, I suspect will not sit well, perhaps even taken as an affront to the other Northern Houses."

Sansa closed her eyes, almost painfully, as though she were actually thinking of objecting. Margaery wished she could tell her not to, that it didn't matter to her if they were married. It was just a title, she already had Sansa, had the approval of her council, they needn't get greedy and ask for more.

"You're right," Sansa relented, sadly, though Margaery breathed an internal sigh of relief, "you're right, I must compromise, and remain realistic. I am still honest of who I am to those who are dear to me, to my people I shall remain as they need me; a good Queen they can rely on."

Though the rest of the room might not have heard it, Margaery didn't miss the unmistakable disappointment laced in her words, and her chest bloomed at the thought that Sansa had wanted to marry her, that she may have even been thinking of asking. Her heart fluttered as the image of Sansa wrapping her in a cloak came to the forefront of her mind.

Strangely, it would seem their roles had reversed. Not just the titles, which might not have mattered, but Sansa's confidence was unmistakably stronger than even Margaery's had been when she were a Queen. It was natural, for Sansa to assume the position of dominance, and surprisingly, it felt natural for Margaery to let her.

She wanted Sansa to cloak her, to care for her, to take her in front of the fireplace on a cold night-

She tried to push that image from her mind, lest she ruin her riding pants. She brought herself back to the present, where Sansa was now back to smiling with relief

"I thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, it means more to me than you can possibly know," the Queen looked to Margaery then, who just remembered she should say something.

"I can't begin to say how utterly thankful I am for your welcoming me into your home, and into our Queen's life. She makes me very happy, and I shall spend my days doing the same for her, as well as serving Winterfell in any way I am able, you have my word," and Gods, was she ever thankful. The hangover from the adrenaline rush was hitting her now, the feeling akin to escaping death, as she would know.

Sansa beamed at her, giving Margaery some of the stability she so desperately needed, "good, with that out in the open, let's move on to other matters."

They ran through the motions the rest of the meeting, though Margaery found it difficult to be present, still reeling from the events that had just taken place. There were still many repairs to be done, but the people of the North were hardy folk, and even the snow didn't slow them down. Margaery was delighted to see that Winterfell was prospering, as was her Kingdom, under this new rule and given alliance with her brother Bran.

Upon adjourning for lunch many hours later, Sansa must have sensed Margaery's need to get away for a little while, to be alone with her to discuss the disbelieving outcome of the meeting. So she requested lunch be sent to Sansa's chambers, where she lead the two of them immediately after.

They were barely through the door before Margaery was whirling around, pressing Sansa against the oak and kissing her senselessly, her body buzzing with euphoria.

"Sansa!" she gasped breathlessly, "I can't believe this! I can't! Gods you were _right_ , you were right to tell me to trust you. You're…you're amazing!"

Sansa did something unexpected, and lifted the Tyrell from the ground. Margaery shrieked slightly as they crashed to the bed in a state of utter bliss. Sansa's lips felt like fire on her pulse, and she gripped her shoulders tightly, though she desperately wished Sansa's hand that clutched at her side would move to her breast, to roam the expanse of her most private of areas.

She wondered if Sansa wanted to, but perhaps, maybe she didn't.

She tried not to think painful thoughts like that. Sansa needed her like this, she would get there, one day.

She whimpered when she felt Sansa bite down on the soft skin, and she couldn't control the way she arched into her thigh, desperately seeking some sort of friction. It was all too much, from the moment of first seeing Sansa, to actually hear her command a room, in her striking black leather and wolf furs, her arousal had been steadily building since. Besides, she had not had sex in years, unfortunately the last being Tommen Baratheon. Or Lannister, she should say.

She wanted it to be Sansa again.

So she ground on Sansa again, pushing her luck with the girl, who seemed to only notice her actions just now. To Margaery's utter disappointment, Sansa's mouth removed itself from her neck, and the wolf Queen pulled back. But Margaery wasn't expecting to find the lust that was pooled in her orbs, and Sansa looked at her through hooded lids, her pupils dilated twice their usual size. Her breath was hot on her skin, and Sansa looked as alive with pleasure as Margaery felt, the air between them thick with primal need-

-and then a knock sounded at the door.

"Your Grace, I have lunch ready!" chimed her maidservants pleasant, girlish voice.

Margaery couldn't help but let out a quiet groan in frustration, though thankfully Sansa didn't appear to hear her as she slid off, pretending as though the tension built between them had never happened. It was Sansa's walls quickly being built back in place, brick by brick, and Margery couldn't help but curse her maidservant to the Seven Hells in that moment.

But when Sansa returned, beaming at her, holding a tray of delicious honeyed chicken and potatoes, the pent up frustration instantly melted away, replaced with a hint of self loathing. She had only been here a few days after all, and while her mind wanted to take things slow, it appeared her body was rushing her. She would have to get better at suppressing her desires, not wanting to scare Sansa away and erase the progress they had made.

The spent lunch reminiscing about the few good times spent in Kings Landing, giggling in gossip as they made snide remarks about the Lannisters. It may be cruel, but so were the lions, and none deserved their hatred more than Cersei.

Sansa promised her she would take her outside tomorrow; she was still worried that she was susceptible to the cold for too long, only having just recovered. She promised her the Godswood, the Glass Gardens, and even the Stark family crypt. She looked forward to seeing Sansa's history, understanding her more. She had never seen Sansa in her environment after all, and she wanted to soak everything in.

But Sansa was happy to show her the remainder of the Great Keep for the rest of the afternoon. She educated her on how the granite walls were built over a hot spring, explaining the castle's warmth despite no fires nearby. She gave her a tour of all the Stark quarters, and even showed her the solar that belonged to her father, the late Eddard Stark. She lead her across the magnificent covered bridge, from which you can see the entire yard, which led to the armory.

The castle of Winterfell was much larger than Margaery ever imagined, and much more beautiful too. She wasn't sure what she pictured before, but the Red Keep had been so glorious with it's gold and marble, she figured anything would be hard pressed to top that. But Winterfell carried so much more personality than the Red Keep, it was the kind of castle she would imagine in story books.

They circled back to the main hall for dinner, where pork roast and wine was plentiful. Margaery hadn't been so full in months, since coming to Winterfell, and she felt a strange sense of nostalgia when her own grandmother used to eat with them as children. Something about warm, hearty food with those you love brought a comfort that was beyond compare.

It had been a perfect first day out of her chambers. Or, was it _their_ chambers? Sansa had been spending every night with her, after all, but that was when she was sick. Now that she was better, she wasn't sure if they're routine would continue, or if Sansa would move them to their chambers. She figured Sansa still liked that bit of separation, somewhere where she can shed her clothes without anyone seeing, somewhere to go when her trauma becomes too much to bear.

Her questions were answered when they took a left into Margaery's room, which was fine by her. She couldn't help but feel like a guest here, despite what Sansa might have to say about it, and if she preferred them to maintain their own chambers for the time being, she would not protest.

"A drink?" Sansa said, her voice full of mirth. It was a pleasant difference from the tone Sansa used to use, so full of doubt and sadness. She really had blossomed like a beautiful southern flower, and Margaery couldn't recall a time where she had seen Sansa so happy.

"Please," she said, gratefully. She sat at the table as she watched Sansa unclip her own fur, as the room was certainly warm enough. She slipped off her black leather gloves and left them on the table, sighing as she sat across from Margaery. She began to pour two glasses, sliding one towards the Tyrell who happily accepted.

"So," Sansa began, a nervous smile on her lips, "what do you think of Winterfell so far?" it was endearing, how much Sansa cared for Margaery to like it.

She put her hand over the tabletop, reaching to enclose Sansa's, "Sansa, it's wonderful, more than I could ever have hoped it to be. I never thought I'd say it, especially after a week of walking through the snow, but the North has grown on me."

Sansa beamed, looking around the room with a sense of pride, "I'm glad, it is your home now too. For as long as you want it to be."

"I love you Sansa, I want to be home with you for always."

The younger woman took a long sip of her wine, "you know, it just occurred to me, my father had a small Sept built here as well, for my mother. You are free to it as you please."

Margaery couldn't help the sad smile she gave her next, "thank you, but I haven't turned to the faith in years now. I'd rather not step foot in another Sept again, if I can help it."

Sansa looked as though she could kick herself, grimacing as she remembered, "of course you don't, I'm sorry-"

"But," Margaery cut her off, pausing to sip her own wine, "I wouldn't be opposed to accompanying you to the Godswood from time to time, if it's alright with you. Perhaps the Old Gods will hear the prayers the Seven never did."

Sansa raised an elegant eyebrow, "worth a try, they certainly heard mine," she said casually, as she drained the rest of her glass, but Margaery knew what Sansa had meant. She had prayed for Margaery's return to her, and thus she appeared. Perhaps it really was the Old Gods doing all along. Margaery didn't think too much on faith and destiny, but that wasn't to say it didn't exist.

Margaery was staring, as she found herself doing a lot with Sansa lately. Now that they had the council's blessing, she was free to do so as she pleased. And it was quite nice.

Sansa smiled, blushing slightly as she placed her empty goblet back on the table, "what is it?"

The Tyrell sighed as though she were lost in a dream, "nothing, it's just…you look _so_ good, Sansa. Despite everything, I mean. You look stronger, healthier than you ever have."

Sansa gave her a lopsided smile, "I guess hitting my rock bottom was something of a breaking point. I was tired of my life being taken from me. So I suppose, being broken to pieces allowed me to rebuild myself in the image I wanted."

"That makes sense," Margaery agreed, "and a very beautiful image it is, I might add."

"Thank you. I can't believe it myself, sometimes. Sometimes, I'm still there, locked in that room…"

Her eyes had grown distant, and Margaery was suddenly sitting on edge, wondering if this would be the time Sansa would open up to her. She tried to gauge her features, but she kept them surprisingly even, leaving Margaery unable to predict where this conversation might go.

Suddenly, she gave her head a slight shake as though she were snapping out of a trance, "but, I tell myself that it got me here. It made me who I am. While it still…hurts, I cannot regret it, if that makes any sense."

"It does," Margaery said carefully, "though, you did not deserve it Sansa. And I wish you didn't have to suffer the way that you did." She swallowed the lump in her throat and kept her voice surprisingly calm. If she were to start sobbing now, it would probably only result in alarming Sansa.

But Sansa senses her distress anyway, and takes her hand in the same caring way as Margaery did with her, when she comforted her about her own scars.

"I've got my home, and I've got you. I have everything I could have ever hoped for, and he has _nothing_. And Margaery…you've already eased my pain, more than you'll know." Sansa looked as though she were suppressing her own emotion for a moment, and Margaery chuckled internally how it was all just so _them_. The gloomy conversations, the apologies. But not anymore, now they could put the past behind them. There was still healing to be done, on both their parts, but they would do it together, finally.

Sansa eyed the darkness outside, before turning her gaze back to Margaery, her silhouette ethereal in the fading candlelight, "I suppose we should ready ourselves for bed," she sighed, a lazy smile on her face, and Margaery felt her heart seize pleasantly, as it did every night at the prospect of laying with Sansa again.

She rose from the chair, stretching her languid figure as she strode to the mirrored dresser, and began for release the clasps of the gambeson. She took the material off with care, resting it on the chair along with the fur. She then pulled remaining slip over her head, the night air sending a chill over her bare chest and she realized that she had not heard the door to her chambers at all.

Sansa was still seated at the table, watching her. It was hard to decipher the expression she wore, but if she had to guess, she was at war with herself. Her hands her clenched tightly in her lap, looking caught between wanting to flee and wanting to stay, and continue to look.

So Margaery said nothing, not a word, as she maintained eye contact with the Queen with every movement. She undid the clasp of her riding pants, hooking her thumbs on the waistline and pulling them down, revealing not only her less than perfect legs, but everything, baring all. She stepped out of them, slowly, giving them a slight nudge to the side once she had them off.

And Sansa was still watching her.

Moonlight tipped it's pale beauty over the expanse of her now exposed body, the candlelight now faded to a dull glow, only on Sansa's still unreadable features. Anticipation lapped at her abdomen, a constant thrumming presence that swelled inside her like the coming of the tides. She felt her fingers rest on the cool wood of the dresser behind her, and she waited still. She told herself Sansa would come to her, a pacifier of a notion.

"Come here," she said softly to the seated Queen.

The soft request carried the younger woman forward on trembling legs; her eyes full of uncertainty, yet with an unmistakable hunger, a purpose. Carefully trodden footfalls sounded on the floor like a heartbeat, the shadows of the flame rippling her changing features, she could practically hear her unsteady breathing.

The distance was closed and Sansa stood before her, transfixed in a muted silence as her lips parted, letting out the most wavering of breaths, the action shuddering through her. Her hands were twitching at her sides, Margaery noted. She was unsure if Sansa would commit to going any further, unless, Margaery pulled her. As one would pull a single, fine thread on the overly complex tapestry that was Sansa Stark.

She took those trembling hands, though her eyes never left the blue of Sansa's, who remained fixed in their shared gaze as well. They looked wild with a mixture of fear, excitement, longing. But the hesitancy was apparent as well, so Margaery movements were slow along with her, Sansa would have any and all opportunities to stop her if she desired, and Margaery knew Sansa well enough to understand her queue's.

She brought her hands to her breasts, both of them, and she heard Sansa's breathe quicken, but it was not alarmingly so. Margaery stopped, hovering over the stiff peaks, waiting for any sign of discomfort in Sansa's features, though she only saw the same look of nervous anticipation.

She visibly flinched when Margaery applied the lightest pressure, making said hands meet soft flesh, before Sansa relaxed into the touch, melted into it, her eyes slipping shut and breaking the fierce stare they once held, and she moaned in what sounded like mostly relief.

Margaery kneaded Sansa's hands for her, before she felt the muscles beneath her palms begin to move on their own, tentatively, exploring this once forgotten feeling. Margaery sighed into the feeling of Sansa's warm hands gently massaging her soft flesh, alighting a flame in her belly.

"That's it," Margaery sighed, her eyes on Sansa's face, "you're in complete control, my wolf. Look at yourself."

Sansa's eyes snapped open as Margaery urged her closer, until they were cheek to cheek, her gaze burning into the mirror behind them, watching their every fluid movement together. She heard Sansa's shuddering gasp and the movement of her hands on her breast became more insistent, so much so that Margaery didn't see the reason for her guidance any longer, and let her hands rest on Sansa's shoulders.

A whimper escaped her lips as Sansa's took her part nipples into her fingers, rolling them gently, as though exploring the reactions it elicited from the Tyrell. Her hands were careful, but no less arousing, and Margaery could feel fluid begin to trickle from the apex of her thighs.

" _Sansa_ ," she gasped as another wave crashed through her, the feeling of Sansa pressed against her, that this was really happening, was taking her high to a whole different plain of existence. "Sansa, you're so _good_ …"

Sansa's breath hitched at the compliment, nibbling at Margaery's earlobe in response. Her stomach clenched at the new contact, her bowels begging to roil pleasantly and she couldn't help the way her grip tightened on Sansa's shoulder before she had to take one of her hands away completely, placing the extremity back on Sansa's own, which was still pleasuring her breast delightfully.

"Sansa," Margaery stuttered, lost in the moment of a primal driven _need_. She clenched Sansa's hand and moved it from her breast, trailing down the taught muscles of her stomach. Meeting no resistance, Sansa must have been just as lost in the suffocating air of arousal that she was. Her hand went to her soft curls, placing Sansa's trembling fingers within her folds, massaging them into the slick fluids that bloomed from there.

"Do you see what you do to me," she breathed into Sansa's ear, "do you see how much I need you?"

Sansa sagged against her, her knees weakening, though Margaery's other hand went to plant a firm grasp on her hip. She removed the hand that had teased her slick folds, bringing it forth once again, travelling up between their bodies.

She turned slightly, so Sansa would see in the reflection, the way Margaery placed Sansa's glistening fingers into her mouth, so deep she nearly reached the back of her throat. Her tongue moved fluidly between the digits, lapping up every strand of her arousal that resided on them.

And Sansa _growled_ , and something broke.

The animalistic, sexual prowess that had been lurking lost within Sansa's psyche burst forth, and her strong hands grabbed at Margaery's hips, spinning her around against the dresser with surprising force, though the action was in no way violent or taking. It was unbridled passion, from years spent alone and in longing, suffering in grief and loss, it was all coming to a head. Various oils and vials that had once stood prim on the polished wood went crashing to the floor, forgotten and irrelevant.

"I want you to see," Sansa gasped, the first words of their heated exchange pushing past her lips into Margaery's ear, "I want you to watch me."

And Margaery was so ready as Sansa's hand slipped to her folds, reaching around from where Sansa stood pressed behind her. Her other hand was on Margaery's breast again, pinching and rolling the nub in her fingers. Her mouth, _Gods_ , her hot mouth, was latched onto her pulse, her teeth grazing the soft beating skin, sending a radiating heat spiking down to her toes.

She spread her legs quickly and so willingly for her wolf, her hands coming to grip the wood atop the piece of furniture. Sansa was taking complete control over her, something Sansa desperately needed, and Margaery wholeheartedly wanted. Having her like this filled Sansa with a surprising and utterly erotic confidence, and she noted that this must just come naturally to Sansa, as it wasn't as though she slept with anyone since Margaery to gain this experience.

And she certainly didn't get it from Ramsay Bolton, whose experience shared with Sansa had nothing to do with pleasuring another.

Sansa grunted as her fingers met her heated center once again, her fingers sliding in a beautiful, fast tempo along the soft bundle of nerves at the peak of her folds. She cried out as the hand found a delicious rhythm, working furiously on the small nub that was the center of her raging storm.

"Sansa!" she cried, forcing her eyes to the mirror, of the two of them. The scene before her was incredibly erotic, her body broke out in a full blush, the way her arms trembled under the weight of her on the dresser. Her face, beaded with sweat and her jaw slacked in pleasure, her eyes nearly black with arousal. But it was Sansa's face that would put her over the edge, the way she watched her hungrily, her eyes hooded and aflame with desire. Sansa was beautiful, and she fixed her eyes on her, for it fed her fiery need like wood to flame, and her cries grew more intense as she was already so close to the edge of that sweet abyss.

" _Ah! AH! Gods, Sansa! I'm s-so close, please!"_

Her nails dug into the wood seeking purchase as the raging fire turned into an inferno within her loins, about to reach her climax when Sansa grabbed at her jaw with the hand that had been on her breast, pulling her face to her to place a searing kiss, and Margaery sunk her teeth into soft flesh as she was thrown from the edge with tremendous force when Sansa had plunged her fingers deep inside her.

Fluid gushed from her womanhood as her legs trembled and threatened to give out, but Sansa's hand still pressed firmly in her core prevented her from doing so. A scream tore from her lips as she sank to her elbows on the cool wood, Sansa's other hand coming to steady her around her middle. Her juices dripped to floor below, whatever that couldn't be contained in Sansa's hand, though Margaery couldn't pay any mind through the haze.

She gasped quietly as she felt strong arms suddenly pick her up from the back of her knees, giggling breathlessly as Sansa held her in her arms, carrying her toward the inviting furs on the bed. Margaery was thankful, as she didn't much trust her legs at this point.

"I'm sorry," Sansa managed with a sheepish smile as she lowered her onto the bed, coming to sit beside her, "I should have brought you here in the first place."

"My Gods, Sansa, that was undoubtedly the best I've ever had. You can have me anywhere you like, I will never complain." And she wouldn't, if anything, she was already trying to compile a perverted list of other places she would like Sansa to pleasure her.

There was a moment of silence stretched between them as the once static air calmed to a soothing buzz, but there was the most beautiful smile tugging at the corners of Sansa's mouth.

"Thank you," the younger girl whispered softly, "for showing me. For allowing me that control and…and showing me that it's alright to lose it, too."

Margaery smiled, bringing Sansa's palm to her mouth and placing soothing kisses along it, "and thank you, for letting me. I've missed you touch, sweet girl. So much it hurts," she murmured into the skin.

Sansa took the opportunity to stretch her fingers to caress Margaery's cheek, "it won't hurt anymore."

There was something so final in Sansa's words, so determined, it almost caught Margaery off guard. She was right, it wouldn't hurt anymore, for either of them.

Sansa rose from the bed, albeit a little reluctantly, and made for the door, "I'm going to get out of these clothes, I'll be back soon."

"I'll be here."

Margaery wasn't even disappointed in the slightest; Sansa had made leaps and bounds of progress, bringing Margaery to orgasm, allowing herself to partake in a sexual encounter. It was alright if Sansa wasn't ready herself, it was alright if it was a long time before she did. She had certainly enjoyed pleasuring Margaery tonight. This was enough for Margaery, just to see Sansa relax again.

To see her smile, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know it is kind of unrealistic for the time for everyone to be so ok with their love, but this is MY happy ending damnit! 😂 Also, my last chapter got sooo many awesome reviews, I haven't replied to them all, so I just wanted to thank everyone here for leaving your comments. I read each and every one and they bring me so much happiness :)


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! 😭 I'm so sad. I want to take the time to thank each and every one of you for following this story, and for taking the time to give me such awesome reviews. All of your thoughtful words is what kept me going, and it means so much to me. This chapter will contain smut as well as some detailed mentions of abuse, and of course, our very happy ending 😁 hope you all enjoy!

**_Sansa_ **

It was astounding, how in just a few short days, it felt like the years of mourning she had spent in the cold, and alone, had just vanished, as though it never existed in the first place. Her heart felt whole with Margaery at her side, and they fell into an easy rhythm with one another, more so than before, now that they didn't have to hide their affections so diligently. Margaery was still sweet, just as she always was, despite her hardships the years did not change her in that regard.

Not like they changed Sansa.

And she couldn't help but feel terribly inadequate in comparison. Margaery had opened up to her, bared all before her in the name of love, accepting Sansa's healing embrace with open arms. She turned to Sansa for that comfort, confided her deepest insecurities, and offered an explanation of her life over the years with no hesitation. In fact, it was as though she were eager to do so, to wash away any doubts that may have lingered in Sansa's mind.

She couldn't even give the Tyrell the same respect.

It's not that she didn't want to; on the contrary, she felt as though she may burst with the knowledge that Margaery was still in the dark of, and more than once she felt the words on the tip of her tongue, ready to satisfy Margaery's surely burdening curiosity of just what happened to her. Margaery knew her better than anyone, and she already knew it wasn't a pleasant story, well aware of the negative affects it had on Sansa.

Would Margaery even want someone as broken and unfair as her? Sansa, who claims to love the woman with all of her being, who can't even have the decency to explain her absence over the years?

She couldn't fathom why Margaery was so patient with her, but if she had to guess, it was simply in the Tyrell's nature. She had always been patient, kind, and nurturing with Sansa, throughout her struggles in adolescence all the way into womanhood. Sansa desperately wanted to show her the same curtesy, but opening a vault she kept sealed for so long was easier said than actioned.

She tried to push all manner of stress aside, for today was a very important day. To her regrets, she had not yet managed to show Margaery the grounds of Winterfell, what with all the business that required her immediate attention. Just when she thought she had time for the woman, something else sucked her back in. Unfortunately, queenly duties cared not for reunions nor newly discovered love.

But today, she had made sure her schedule was clear. She even began to contemplate appointing a Hand to the Queen, just to free up some more of her time, but she quickly squashed the idea. Being Queen should always come first, and Sansa was more than capable of taking on her responsibilities on her own. It would just require some shuffling around, was all.

Any minute now, she would have her alone.

As much as Sansa relished in time alone with Margaery, it admittedly unnerved her, though she knew she was being ridiculous and would never dare say so. It was almost like a tipping anticipation, threatening to boil over at any moment. Part of Sansa just wanted to throw caution to the wind and give in, though the other, more damaged part always managed to make itself known.

"Your Grace?" Brienne announced from the doorway, startling Sansa from her thoughts, "Lady Margaery has been escorted to your solar for lunch. Are you ready to go or will you require more time?"

She was talking about the heaps of parchment Sansa was still trying to get through, with ever dent made another doubled in its place. She smiled sadly at the mounting work before looking back to her Queensguard, "I'm afraid there will never be enough time, Brienne. It's never-ending, I'm sure."

"You're doing a wonderful job, Your Grace."

Sansa smiled at the compliment, one of many praises she had heard from her dear friend. She sighed as she set the quill down and shuffled the documents back into the neat pile they had been initially, before Sansa had gotten her hands on them. She rose from her chair and allowed Brienne to get the door for her.

The short walk atop the battlements was pleasant. The sun was shining, a rarity nowadays, basking her skin in a pleasant warmth. The wind, too, was low, and Sansa was almost glad that life had postponed their outing together.

Her stomach fluttered upon arriving at the solar, knowing Margaery was awaiting her on the other side. It was a wonder how she still made Sansa feel like that shy girl back in Kings Landing, in the best way of course.

The Tyrell beamed at her as she entered, and Sansa had to take a moment to admire her. She wore a winter gown of deep maroon today with black weaved through the neckline and sleeves, her hair done in a beautiful Northern fashion.

"My wolf!" she exclaimed, standing to greet her once the door shut behind her, wasting no time in taking Sansa's gently in her hands and pressing her lips to her own, "how was your morning?"

Sansa rested her forehead against Margaery's for a moment, drinking in the sight of her, before moving to sit at the table. A array of assorted cheeses and fruits lay spread on the dark green tablecloth, a full decanter of wine included. Sansa couldn't help but eye it, having been too busy to even break her fast that morning. She had to get an early start to her work if she ever hoped to take the afternoon off.

"Starving," Sansa admitted bluntly, earning a laugh from Margaery, "Gods I swear, my wrist is beginning to lock up."

Margaery poured her a generous goblet of wine, a sympathetic smile on her face, "you work so hard, you deserve a break. I've looked forward to our afternoon together. I can't wait to kiss you in the garden, like old times."

Sansa's face lit up in a blush, one that Margaery took great delight in as she started to dig in to her meal. She glanced at Sansa, a knowing smile on her face, "I must say, all stress aside, I'm pleased to see your eating habits have improved."

Sansa couldn't help but feel slightly embarrassed, even with the non-judgmental way Margaery had said it. She cleared her throat and smiled at her, "I know I…it was terrible, I know. I guess everything that happened to me at Kings Landing had just…it made me physically ill. And it made me weak, too, you know? I can't afford to be weak any longer."

Margaery's smile remained as she took Sansa's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, "you certainly aren't any longer." Her words were simple, but they filled Sansa with joy nonetheless.

They ate in a comfortable silence, which allowed Sansa to admire Margaery more directly. More often than not her focus was on the woman, rather than most other things, but to her that was alright. Margaery deserved her attention, and it brought joy to Sansa to give it to her.

"I see you staring, my wolf," Margaery chided, grinning at her over her goblet, "you know, the sooner you eat, the sooner you can whisk me around Winterfell."

Sansa chuckled, "just thinking of how lucky I am. I can't believe how much has changed, so quickly. Arya returning and killing the Night King, to Bran being crowned King in the South. I, Queen of the North. How the Stark siblings rose from the ashes. And then you…" she shook her head, at a loss for words.

Perhaps you deserve this, Sansa," Margaery said thoughtfully, "it's not like it wasn't hard earned. Your happiness didn't come without it's suffering."

Sansa looked at her appreciatively, mulling over her wine, "I wish you could have met her."

"Arya?"

"Yes. I think you would have liked her. She's…strange, I suppose, and nothing like me. But you can't help but respect her, even without her title, as she has no interest using it. That's always been like Arya, she was never meant for a royal life." Sansa smiled fondly at the thought of her sister, gallantly swishing about a sword as a young girl, an act Sansa once thought ill befitting of a lady, but was now what she had grown to respect her the most. Arya's training saved them from the Night King, even if the cost felt too great sometimes. Whatever training Arya had, had turned her into a killer.

The smile faded, slightly.

Margaery didn't press, instead, "where did she go?"

Sansa scoffed, "to explore whatever is west of Westeros, if you can believe it."

Margaery's face scrunched. "But, no one knows what's west of Westeros?"

"Exactly," Sansa said, her eyes twinkling, "leave it to Arya to be the first."

"Do you miss her?" Margaery asked, finishing the remainder of her wine.

Sansa finished her own goblet, looking thoughtfully at the remnants at the bottom. "I do," she admitted, "I was afraid at first. We had just reunited and she already wanted to run off on another dangerous adventure. But after thinking about it over time, I realized that's just who she is, and always will be. She's not a little girl anymore, and she's free to choose her own life. I can only hope I will see her one day, for now the thought of her never returning again is what scares me most."

She realized she had been rambling and caught herself, smiling shyly and looking away, "Gods, I should have told her that when it mattered."

She hadn't realized when she stood, sometime in the heat of the moment of her speech, but Margaery was there behind her, wrapping her arms around her front. The warmth at her back seemed to let the guilt flow out of her, Margaery's presence as healing as always.

"I'm sure she knows how much you love her. After going through what you went through together, it makes everything else seem insignificant. She knows the bond you share, and she wont forget that. She will return to you, one day."

Sansa let herself believe her, even if she still had her doubts, "I'm sure she would have approved of you."

"it wouldn't put her off, that her sister was with a woman?"

Sansa shook her head, "Arya isnt like that. I'm not sure if Arya believes in love at all herself, but I think she would just want me to be happy. I know she was hurt about leaving me here, even if she didn't outwardly say it." She turned in Margaery's arms, letting her forehead rest against hers once again, "she would be glad to know I'm so well taken care of."

Margaery smiled as she pressed her lips lightly to Sansa's mouth, "she doesn't have to worry about that," she breathed hotly onto her lips, and Sansa couldn't resist taking the lower one into her teeth, eliciting a deep chuckle from the Tyrell.

"Come, my love, or we will be stuck up here the whole afternoon. I want to see the beauties of our home."

 _Our home_.

* * *

Margaery didn't suppress her gasp upon walking into the humid air of the glass gardens; the sun streaming through the glass walls bathed the greens in a golden glow, the beads of dew glimmering like a thousand jewels. Groves of small trees outlines the outer walls, while the inside was bursting with color from various floral families such as azure bluebells, forget-me-nots, even moonbloom and lavender. It was remarkable how they managed to grow such a variety of flora so far north.

"The hot springs below provide the climate in order for things to grow," Sansa explained as she walked closely behind her, "there are special vents built into the floors. It almost feels like summer in here."

Margaery said nothing, still in awe at the blooming world around her. She delicately ran her hands through the many bulbs and petals, as though disbelieving their existence. Sansa could only smile, knowing how Margaery must miss summer. She insisted on her love for Winterfell, but Sansa knew, even if she never said it. Everyone misses the familiarity of home.

Sansa led her purposely through the shrubbery, until they reached the back of the greenhouse, to a spot that Sansa had specifically commissioned for herself. When Margaery's eyes landed on the sight before her, she couldn't help her hands flying to her mouth as she had a sharp intake of breath.

A thriving bush of Tyrell roses, bursting forth taking up an entire corner of the greenhouse. They stood over Margaery's head, and just at first glance there must have been hundreds of the yellow flowers. She reached out a tentative hand, gently caressing one of the petals on a particularly large and bright blossom.

"I had them imported from Highgarden," Sansa said quietly, and Margaery glanced at her with tear filled eyes before looking back at the bushels, "after I…after word was sent, that you were gone."

She gazed at the roses as painful memories arose, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. "I just needed _something_ that reminded me of you. Something I could see. Something I could touch…"

Margaery was watching her now, but Sansa was already taking one of the roses in her hand, brushing her thumb over the velvety petal. "It never got easier, coming here," she admitted, "every rose was like a knife in my heart. But I came regardless. As often as I could."

She was taken back, suddenly and harshly, to a nightmare she had soon after she planted them. The greenhouse was in ruins, the plants ripped from their roots and strewn about. The glass walls smashed, allowing the winter air inside, frosting over the ones that did survive. And in the back, a flickering light had caught her eye. Stepping through the ruined garden, she was horrified to find that the roses had been set aflame.

And standing with the torch in his hand, his snarling grimace flickering in the light, was Ramsay.

She had an urge to order strict and irrational guard over the gardens at all times after that, but she had refrained.

She hadn't realized she had frozen in place, in memory, until Margaery had come to take her arm beside her, jerking her from the painful thoughts.

"They are beautiful, Sansa," she breathed, and Sansa turned to see tear tracks on her face, but she was smiling beautifully. Sansa couldn't help but smile with her now, as the roses no longer had their agonizing meaning, but instead they were a beautiful gift for her lover.

"They are yours now," she whispered, kissing the crown of Margaery's head. Margaery turned in the embrace and tilted her face to Sansa's, her soft lips meeting hers in what could only be described as an act of love.

"We could visit Highgarden someday," Sansa suggested.

Margaery shook her head, "it would be too painful, I think. I'd rather just focus on my new life here, avoid dwelling on the past."

It hit Sansa that while Margaery might seem composed, that didn't mean she wasn't struggling with her own inner demons as a product of what she lived through. The difference between them, was that Margaery was focusing to the future, while Sansa seemed stuck in a terrifying past, dooming her own self to relive the most painful aspects of her life.

And Margaery, with all of her patience, was well aware of this too.

And then she was taking Sansa's hands, physically tearing her from the beautiful yet cursed rose bushes, away from the trance she had found herself in. Her hands were on her face, grounding her to the present, her brown eyes searching Sansa's own but for what, she didn't know.

"Let's go back to the castle," she said quietly, her eyes flitting to the stone walls in the distance. The pads of her thumbs running on Sansa's cheekbone was distracting.

Sansa felt her brows furrow, "but-"

"Let's you and I go back," she continued, her eyes reflecting a look of determination, "and let me take care of you. I know you need me Sansa, I know how much you've needed me when I wasn't there."

"Margaery, you don't have-"

Soft fingertips brushes her lips, effectively silencing her. "I can't take your pain away, I know this. But I'm here now, and I can show you how much I love you. How you are worthy of love, Sansa Stark. I want to heal our wounds together, so all we have left is our beautiful future to look forward to. I want to…"

 _I want to see you_ , were the words left unspoken.

And like a jarring epiphany that struck her like lightening, Sansa realized that Margaery was right about everything. Even Sansa had been telling herself how life was now too short, too precious to squander away. If she wasn't safe with Margaery, she wouldn't be safe with anyone, and the first step to their future was if Sansa could let go of the demons that stalked her. She would never rid herself of such things if she didn't let Margaery in to see her for what she really was. Only then, could her wounds stop festering.

With a sharp intake of breath she looked to Margaery as though seeing her for the first time, who in kind smiled warmly at her and let her hands fall to their sides, intertwining with Sansa's. With a gentle tug she led them from the garden, away from the roses and their double meaning.

The short walk back to the castle felt like a daze to Sansa, as she was doing her best to numb herself to the situation. Margaery would not judge her. She showed her scars to Sansa after all, she would be understanding and kind as she always was. The blessed woman already sent Brienne ahead to fetch a handmaiden to fill a tub for the two of them. The thought made Sansa giddy and nearly overwhelmed all at once.

Reaching Sansa's, (or theirs), chambers, Sansa couldn't help but eye the steaming tub wearily from across the room. She had nearly forgotten Margaery's presence until the older woman had settled in behind her, her hands coming to squeeze her shoulders.

"Sansa…" she started, her voice calm yet inquisitive, and Sansa already knew what she wanted to ask.

"I want this," Sansa assured her, and saying the words aloud felt right, to her relief. They felt true. "I do, Margaery. It's just…"

Her hand came to clasp at the buckles in the front of her gambeson, and Margaery began to rub soothing patterns into her shoulder blades.

"As you said," Sansa said slowly, "my body will not be how you remember it either."

Margaery's hands wrapped around her in a protective embrace, her hands resting on top of Sansa's trembling ones, "but I'm sure it is still every bit as beautiful."

Sansa wasn't so sure, but she said nothing anyway. She allowed Margaery's hands to guide along the clasps of the gambeson, until the heavy leather was removed entirely. There was a thud as Margaery set it atop the table, and the movement behind her told her Margaery was shedding her clothes as well.

Standing in nothing but a shift, Sansa held her breath.

And pulled the fabric over her head.

The cold air of the room hit her like a thousand little pinpricks, making her hair stand on end. Her arms instinctively covered up her front, though it did nothing for her back like she wished it could have.

For it was there the air hurt the most, attacking her once torn flesh as though mocking her for never exposing it before. Still, she held her breath, even as Margaery's soft footfalls padded towards her. A gentle hand brushed along her bare lower back, making her wince, which in turn made her feel terrible. But sweet Margaery said nothing, instead she began to gently lead Sansa to the tub, daintily landing her a hand inside.

The hot water was inviting as she submerged herself lower, the surface providing a protection against what could be seen. She settled into a sitting, most of her still exposed for Margaery to see, and it was there she waited.

Then the older girl was behind her, she could feel her presence in the small waves that rippled forward, before her soft hands came to rest on her back again but this time, she didn't flinch. She waited for the question that never came, because it was Margaery, and she was too patient to ever ask. She would wait for Sansa, for as long as it took.

A curious sensation, soft lips pressing themselves gently to a particularly gnarled piece of healed flesh just along her spine, and it was then the tears came.

Silent they were, but with a profound sense of wonder she realized they were not of pain, but of _liberation_.

The lips moved to other sensitive areas, a gentle tongue flicking out to trail her wounds. It was all so much, but she had to admit it was mostly wonderful. The knowledge of the extent of Margaery's love filled every corner of Sansa's once dormant heart, breaking the chains that bound her to her abusive life with Ramsay, giving way for a new life of love with the Tyrell.

"He used a whip," she said suddenly, into the silence. The kisses slowed for a moment, lingering in place, before they left completely, and she knew Margaery was listening intently. "With hooks," she continued, "it was his favorite thing to do, since it made me scream the most."

She watched the water distort her own reflection, the hands at her back ever exploring and attentive. "He took me violently, constantly. Theon watched on our wedding night." Her eyes burned as she remembered poor Theon, probably the only person who could ever come close to understanding what Sansa had went through. At least he died a hero's death. "And he would kick me so hard I would urinate blood."

Once the words started she found she couldn't stop; surely, Margaery must be behind her mortified, but Sansa wasn't facing her, so the words came easier.

"I thought I would die here," she said softly, "and most nights, I wish I would have. You know I fed him to his hounds?"

The hands stilled, and Sansa wondered what Margaery thought of her with this new information. She must not have thought to question Ramsay's death before, assumed he was executed for treason of course, but not the nature of the kill.

"Am I a monster?" she wondered aloud.

The hands were strong this time, pulling on her forearms to direct her into facing Margaery. It was admittedly difficult, to see Margaery's tear streaked face. And she didn't miss the murderous rage that she hid surprisingly well, but it was there, deep within her expression.

"You are not a monster, Sansa," she assured with such raw determination, her eyes boring into hers, "you never were, and never could be. You were merciful in his death, and you should grant yourself that same mercy. You have grown into a marvelous, selfless Queen, who would do anything for her people. That doesn't sound like a monster to me."

Sansa chewed her lip, "he said he would always live inside me."

"He won't," she muttered as she rested her forehead to Sansa's, "because I will not let him. He won't hurt you any longer, my sweet girl. He will cease to exist, as will Joffrey, as will Cersei. Now, there is only us, as it's supposed to be."

She exhaled deeply, leaning into Margaery's intoxicating touch, "us," she repeated, "I don't know how I ever went on without you…you're _everything_ to me."

Margaery kissed her then, and Sansa felt it would never be enough. Her taste was nothing short of a sweet addiction, the way she made her knees weak, and the rush of complete and utter submission to her was one she longed for. She let Margaery's tongue in to explore her mouth further, relishing in the fluttering that began low in her stomach. She clung to her, the way their nude bodies pressed together under the water was dizzying, and she had to hold onto Margaery as if she were a lifeline.

She felt her own actions grow insistent, sending wild tremors radiating through her muscles and she couldn't resist the urge to take Margaery's lip into her teeth. The moan that she was rewarded took her back to the night prior, when she had Margaery on the dresser, the way she looked as she came undone, beautiful and free.

She wanted to feel it too.

She had known when she watched Margaery in the mirror, the way her wild hair clung to her with sweat, her flushed cheeks, her jaw slack as she cried out Sansa's name. Her womanhood had thrummed mercilessly, begging for it's own release. It was jarring, as feelings of true arousal were buried long ago, never to be felt again, not until Margaery came back.

It was then she felt hope for herself, that it could be beautiful again. Margaery could make it so.

"Take me to the bed," she gasped against Margaery's lips, her body alight with fire. The older woman pulled back, her face searching for any hint of hesitation on Sansa's part and it tugged at her heart at how familiar it all was. It was the same way she looked at Sansa the first time she made love to her.

"Are you sure?" came the gentle question.

"I need this," she insisted into Margaery's mouth in between kissing her, "I need it to be you again. I want it to be as it was."

"Then let me make you feel beautiful, my Queen."

Sansa's heart sang as Margaery aided her from the tub, her hands everywhere but gentle and attentive, and she couldn't keep the smile from her lips as Margaery kissed her into oblivion, and she was only vaguely aware of their wet bodies moving to the furs.

With a gentle push she was on her back with Margaery hovering over her, gazing lovingly at her. Sansa felt a little bare for a moment, and the nerves began to settle in. But then Margaery was kissing her again, and the nerves were quieted, because she had no room in her mind to feel such things. There was only Margaery.

A soft hand, the one that wasn't propping up the beauty above her, began to trail down her neck, the nails running down her skin softly and it made her body begin to buzz. She tried to chase the feeling, arching herself into it, and Margaery hummed into her lips at Sansa's eagerness.

Her breath caught as the hand came to her soft mound, tensing for a moment. But the touch was gentle, so much so, nothing like the rough and taking hand that abused them before. Margaery began to massage her breast, and a rush of arousal rocked through her, and she was delighted to know her suspicions were correct. It was nothing like Ramsay, Margaery was not him. Margaery made it good again, made it something beautiful as it once was.

Her lips had moved to her neck, nibbling love bites and soothing them with her tongue. Her fingers wrapped gently around her stiff nipple, and Sansa couldn't help the moan that tore past her lips as the wetness between her thighs began to soak under her bottom.

"Margaery," she gasped softly, emotion breaking it's way into her words. She didn't care, because she knew she was safe here. "You're _perfect_ …"

Margaery hummed delightfully into her skin, "does this feel good, Sansa?" she whispered seductively into her ear, sending wonderful shivers down her spine.

"Gods _yes!"_ She squeaked as Margaery gave her nipple another gentle pinch.

"Do you want me to touch you?"

" _Please_ …" she whimpered, completely at the older woman's mercy.

Margaery pulled back, her hand coming to still on Sansa's chest. She could feel her heart thrumming wildly against it with the anticipation of what was to come.

Margaery looked at her sincerely, "It's going to feel good, Sansa."

She realized with the tug of her heart that Margaery was reassuring her. She didn't know what she did to deserve this woman, but her words only solidified Sansa's desire for her.

"I know," she whimpered, bringing her hand to cup Margaery's cheek, "I trust you."

Margaery kissed her deeply, and Sansa decided to let her hands rest on her face. She wanted Margaery to stay here, where she could focus on her face, to calm her if she needs it. As long as Margaery continued to kiss her, she wouldn't second guess herself.

So she buried her fingers in Margaery's hair, deepening the kiss, as she felt Margaery's hand move down her taught stomach. Then it was there, dancing across her abdomen, making the muscles tremble with excitement. She was sure her entire body was vibrating, but Margaery cradled her close.

Her breath hitched and she hated how she winced when Margaery's hand reached soft red curls. She grit her teeth as her face burned, no longer wishing to look in Margaery's eyes, opting to turn her head away. The hands once resting on the older woman's face dropped to her shoulders where they gripped her lamely.

But Margaery just hovered there just above the source of her wetness, her fingers caressing the patch of hair lovingly. "Sansa," she whispered, dipping her head to catch Sansa's gaze. "sweet girl, look at me."

Sansa forced herself to comply with the request, and she found Margaery's beautiful eyes. Her face was flushed with arousal, but the brown orbs that gazed back at her were brimming with love, with utter care and devotion. She did not laugh at Sansa, and her eyes held no judgement. The hand was still between her thighs, so close to her core, it made it difficult to think.

Sansa felt herself nodding, as the nerves settled once again, and the need came back full force. She shuddered as the hand dipped below the curls, and she waited for pain that never came.

Instead she was met with pure, unbridled ecstasy, as Margaery found her bundle of nerves.

She whimpered as Margaery began to rub rhythmed circles around the sensitive nub, burying her hands in her chestnut tresses once again. She could feel how wet she was around Margaery's fingers, and she swore she heard Margaery moan as well when she had first made contact.

"Oh… _fuck…_ " her face burned as the curse tumbled from her lips, but she could not help herself. Her words seemed to have turned Margaery on, as she was rewarded with another moan against her lips.

"Talk to me, Sansa," Margaery gasped, her voice laced with desperation.

The circles grew in intensity.

"Oh! Gods, Margaery… _unh_ …f-feels so…so…"

She trailed off in an incoherent mess, her flesh quivering under Margaery's expert touch. She felt her hips buck roughly into her hand, desperately seeking the release she knew was building. After all these years, she had forgotten, but it was flooding back with a vengeance now. Every sharp breath, the faint scent of arousal in the air, of Margaery's arousal. The familiar fire low in her belly, that seemed to grow violently with every circle made with Margaery's fingertips.

" _Ah! AH! Please_!" she begged, knowing Margaery would understand. She arched her hips into the hand again, "Margaery-inside! P-please, inside!" she begged again, as a woman desperate, barely able to gasp out the words. Margaery had understood her pleas, she could read her body like a book, and she captured Sansa's lips as she plunged her middle digit gently inside her.

The kiss didn't last long as Sansa's jaw went slack, crying out into the night air as the digit rocked deep inside her, finding the delicious mark that was hidden inside. They fell into a beautiful rhythm together, with Margaery's hand pumping gently between her legs, her hips rocking with Sansa's. Their breasts, pressing together with every fluid motion, sent shockwaves through the top half of her body. Margaery was watching her, her eyes locked on Sansa's, and she made Sansa feel beautiful. She was waiting for her to come undone, as Sansa watched her the night previous.

She wouldn't have to wait long.

She pressed her palm into Sansa's bundle of nerves, making white spots explode behind her now shut eyelids. She tried to watch Margaery, she did, but it was quickly becoming too much.

" _GODS_!" she nearly screamed as the hand pressed furiously into her, the digit deeply buried as her palm worked her nub. "Margaery! I-it's happening, it's-"

She couldn't finish her sentence as her climax tore through her, sending spasms rippling through her body, a scream of pleasure tearing from her lips instead. Her womanhood clenched around the digit, confining it to its place. Margaery's other arm had wrapped around her back, as the orgasm had sent Sansa lurching toward the ceiling. She cradled her close as aftershocks attacked her glistening body, Sansa continuing to whimper into her neck.

All of her seized muscles began to relax, as did her entrance, allowing Margaery to gently slip the hand away, and Sansa groaned at the loss. She then took her in a full embrace, laying them back down on the furs.

Sansa wept openly, tears of pure and enlightening joy, as Margaery peppered sweet kisses over her face. She was trembling, breathless and weak, but she had never felt so strong in a very different sense. Margaery had liberated her from the death grip Ramsay had on her life, and for the first time in years she felt as though she were truly free.

Then Margaery was smiling at, looking like an ethereal being as she glowed above her. Sansa was overtaken by feelings of rebirth, rejuvenation, pride and so much more that she could never put into words. There was only one thing she could say, one thing that would let Margaery know that she was the most important thing in Sansa's life. That everything she is will always be to her credit. Margaery made her a better person, a self that she could be proud of. But there was the safety that came with her, that it was alright to display vulnerability. She had Sansa ever since she had met her, all those years ago in the gardens, as she clasped her hand during her recount of Joffrey's terrors. She had Sansa for life.

Only one thing she could say.

"Marry me," Sansa breathed, her eyes searching Margaery's, waiting for her response. The words hung in the air a moment, before Margaery's brow furrowed adorably, a lopsided smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Sansa…" she trailed off, the obstacle an obvious one. They had already been through this conversation with the small council, they were at a loss with nothing to be done. But Sansa could not accept that answer, would not allow anyone to say she should not marry the woman she loved. She would stand to the Gods themselves if she had to.

"No, not with anyone else present," Sansa rushed, wedding ceremonies differ in the North. It is done in front of the Heart Tree, in the Godswood. We could go, just you and I alone, and I will wed you before the Old Gods as our only witnesses."

The smile that broke out on Margaery's face was the kind that men went to war for. That Sansa would kill for. She would do everything in her power to earn that very smile, again and again. She leaned forward, her lips ghosting along Sansa's, her breath coming out slowly and tickling the soft flesh.

"Let us get dressed, sweet girl. You're taking me to the Godswood."

* * *

Their feet crunched softly in the fresh fallen snow as they walked side by side to the Godswood. The sky was painted with a dark purple hue as the sun was as good as set. The air was brisk but the wind was mild, and to her delight the snowfall had stopped.

She found herself smiling goofily, and she felt Margaery nudge her shoulder, "what is it?" she asked coyly.

Sansa's smile grew as she held the furs draped in her arms a little tighter, "some Northerners believe that if it snows on your wedding day, you're in for a cold marriage."

Margaery wrapped an arm around Sansa's hip, pulling her tightly to her, "our love could never grow cold, dear Sansa. I don't think anyone's could possibly burn as bright as ours."

Sansa's heart sang as she pressed her lips to her lovers temple, "I think you're right."

She felt full of excitement as they neared the Heart Tree. It was as magnificent as ever, its pale bark stretching high into the air, gnarling every which way and intertwining with itself. Bright red leaves popped in front of the pale backdrop of the North, and when she thought of home she thought of this tree.

She turned to face Margaery. She looked beautiful, her hair done in the southern style but her clothes remained Northern due to the harsh cold. It was an elegant dark green winter gown, with long sleeves and a plunging neckline to reveal an elegant silver chain. Sansa remained in her Queens gambeson, her crown sat atop her perfect head of braids. She took her hands into her own.

"Now," she whispered, "we introduce ourselves before the Old Gods, and accept one another as wife." She couldn't help the giddy smile she wore as she finished that sentence. She cleared her throat, and looked up to the Heart Tree.

"I am Queen Sansa of House Stark. Ruler of the North. I've found safety in the arms of this woman, who filled my heart with a love I could have never known otherwise," she looked to Margaery now, her eyes were glistening with unshed tears but her smile was beautiful and genuine, "I want to love you for the rest of my life. Nothing in this world would fulfill me as your presence does. Will you accept me as your wife, for now and always?"

Her voice wavered thick with emotion, but she held Margaery's gaze.

"I will," she said softly, and her heart soared higher than before.

Margaery then took her moment to look to the Heart Tree, her eyes full of awe as she marveled in it's beauty.

"I am Lady Margaery of House Tyrell. Once the Rose of Highgarden, now a Rose of Winterfell. This woman came to me at a point of my life where I needed her most. She may say that it was I who saved her, but I must disagree. For if not for Sansa, I would have never had a true purpose."

She turned to Sansa, whose heart was thudding maddeningly in her chest.

"that purpose is to love you, Sansa, wholly and completely with everything I have. Will you accept my life's purpose, and claim me as your wife, for now and always?"

Sansa pressed her forehead to Margaery's, letting the scent of rosewater fill her senses, "I will."

They remained like that for a moment, letting the reality of the situation wash over them like a warm blanket. After what felt like a lifetime of getting torn apart by politics, marrying not for love but for power and abuse, she was finally marrying the one she loved. It made everything worth it.

"Come," Sansa whispered, as she pulled them down to a kneeling, "now we pray in thanks to the Old Gods, for bringing us together."

Margaery smiled beautifully as she bowed her head in kind, and they stayed there for a few minutes. Sansa prayed for their health together, for their happiness, for their future. And she thanked her Gods a thousand times over for making her stronger, for giving her the strength to carry on, and for bringing Margaery back to her as a reward for her long suffering.

Her hands went to the clasp of Margaery's cloak, her hands trembling as all her dreams were becoming a reality before her eyes. She unclasped the chain and gently removed it from her shoulders. Folding it, she lay it gentle on the ground, before picking up the larger fur she had brought with her.

She relished this moment as she unfolded it in her arms, while Margaery waited patiently, her features filled with unyielding love. She took her time, burning this moment into her memory as she draped the fur around Margaery's shoulder, covering her under her protection, forever.

She fastened the clasp and let her hands rest on Margaery's shoulders, "I love you," she whispered softly into the night air.

"I love you, sweet girl." The nickname still gave her pleasant shivers.

Sansa kissed her then, pouring all the feelings she could into the action. She kissed her wife, as was her right to do so, before the Old Gods with passion. Let it be known how much she loves this woman, let the heavens see the strength they were together. They parted breathlessly, the grins they wore unbridled and carefree.

"Normally I would carry you to the feast now. But…since there isn't one...I suppose we will have to move straight to the bedding ceremony."

Margaery's laugh was like music, "I have no arguments with that."

Sansa scooped her up suddenly in her strong arms, and Margaery wrapped her arms around Sansa's neck, looking every bit as beautiful as a blushing bride. She giggled as Sansa peppered her face in kisses, and her heart had never been fuller than in this moment.

"Come," she whispered, gazing at Margaery with all the adoration she felt, "I want to make love to my _Queen_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also wanted to add, I unfortunately do not have any current stories lined up for the Sansaery fandom:(. But I do have something in the works if there are any Witcher fans here? Lol, but who knows what the future holds amiright? Thank you all for being awesome readers, hope to see you again in the future!


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